


Woven

by Squiggly_Bones



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, But also oil as lube, Canon Divergence, Canon Typical Violence, Fluff, M/M, Minor Character(s), Minor Original Character(s), Multichaptered, Porn With Plot, Post-Game Events, Romance, Spit As Lube, actually.. lots of smut, fixing what happened in canon, friends with benefit to lovers i guess, future tags to be added, kinda long, some violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:48:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28927599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squiggly_Bones/pseuds/Squiggly_Bones
Summary: A year after the mess that was Sciropescire, fate shows Eivor Wolf-kissed and Ivarr Ragnarsson that they have already been tied together.
Relationships: Eivor/Ivarr Ragnarsson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 56





	1. Loose Threads

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I just wanna say this might be a pretty long fic, not sure. Maybe not in chapters, but in words (because I suck at dividing chapters lol) so please bear with me with the slow updates. I write slowly. 
> 
> Thank you and I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> This is a story about Eivor, Ivarr, and Ceolbert first and Eivarr porn second ksjdfksf or maybe the other way around...

  
"Do it, Eivor." 

The words rang in his ear like an unbearable buzzing, heat rising up to his head as Ivarr wore that sick twisted smile underneath him, bloodied and beaten, with Varin's axe ready to cut the Dane's neck at any moment- and Eivor had never held his father's axe as tight and anguished as he did that day.

Ivarr Ragnarsson. He was once his lover, if he even dared to call him that. It started when they met at a tavern in Grantebridge, with Eivor gathering information about the mad woman Fulke- and who really knew why Ivarr was there? At first it was sharing their brotherly troubles, with Sigurd kidnapped and Ubba wanting to settle down, which led to sharing drinks, and eventually, they began to share each other's bed too, but never anything more, never anything deeper, tender. He had gotten to know the weight of Ivarr's hand, the feel of his skin against his, the eccentricities that he had been charmed by, but the sunrise only brought with it a different Ivarr. Or, Eivor sometimes wondered, perhaps it was the one he spent the night with who was unfamiliar. 

Eivor questioned all of it in that moment of torment as the blade of his axe grazed against Ivarr's neck, white knuckled hand shaking as he held onto it. He never understood Ivarr nor did he think he ever will, yet he asked, "Why?" with a voice he could barely let out, "He was only a boy Ivarr!" now breaking at the memory of Ceolbert, weak and bleeding on his back, chasing for air, clinging for dear life. The camp healer said the young Saxon would survive but it still filled Eivor with dread and anger, even more so when Ivarr claimed himself responsible.

"I can... see the winged women... they will take me to Valhalla." Ivarr said, eyes barely able to open, and his hands fisted the dirt and grass, voice broken by the pain Eivor had inflicted on him. 

Ivarr's reply only darkened the cloud looming on Eivor. With gritted teeth and sweat rolling down his forehead, Eivor pushed his weapon until it shallowly cut through Ivarr's skin, blood dripping down onto the ground he lied on. Still, he could not continue further. He thought himself a coward for in this moment of confusion and pain, Ivarr felt most familiar to him- blue eyes deeply gazing at him with painful honesty- he wanted to die. And he deserved it as much as he deserved Valhalla for all the glory he had claimed for himself, despite everything else. 

"Not this way, Ivarr. Not by my hand." Eivor heaved, trying not to lose himself in Ivarr's bloodshot eyes. "You will suffer alive, to be filled with shame until the tips of your greying hair." He cried out between pangs of rage. "To be plagued by what you've done to Ceolbert, denied of your seat beside the High One." Eivor tried to keep still, gathering his thoughts, looking at Ivarr who was struggling to breathe, eyes becoming hollowed and empty. 

"Not by my hand." Eivor threw his axe away, hunching down to gaze at Ivarr, trembling hands wanting to feel Ivarr's skin. Still, he halted himself from doing so, tightly shutting his eyes as the Ragnarsson passed out under him.

The frustration remained even until his return to the camp, with Ivarr unconsciously bouncing on horseback behind him, earning them looks and murmurs from soldiers they passed by. Eivor did not care, the anxiety of how much blood Ivarr lost and if he was still breathing was an unwelcomed distraction. He dismounted his horse and looked at Ivarr with heavy eyes, and an even heavier heart, watching his blood-soaked muscles twitch, the red stains on his shirt only getting bigger. "He hasn't got much long. Bring him to a healer." He ordered and diverted his eyes from the sight of Ivarr.

It must have been the fumes in the camp, but he felt teary.

The soldiers quickly obeyed with no questions asked, carrying Ivarr to the nun tending Ceolbert. Not long after, there was a crash inside the tent, taking Eivor out of his thoughts and instinctively rushing inside with no small amount of tension. "Ceol-" He saw him, the poor thing, a wooden stick and used, red-stained bandages sat next to him, his new binding looking much cleaner than the old ones. He looked better at least, if only his eyes weren't full of horror from seeing Ivarr the Boneless, beaten and dyed in his own blood. None of his snarky pride, no jokes about him finally growing some balls. The way Ceolbert looked at him was obvious-- he pitied his current state. 

"Eivor." His tone was almost in panic, "what... what has happened?"

Eivor followed the trail of spilled ointments and a water basin, which he assumed was the cause of the crash, leading him to Ivarr's figure being dragged onto a pile of hay and cloth beside the boy. He shook his head when he recalled what happened and never making much sense of it. "Are you well, Ceolbert?" He looked down at him and frowned. "He said he did this to you."

There was a grunt from Ivarr who turned his face towards Eivor, furrowed brows showing themselves as the nun wiped off the blood and dirt from his scarred face. "Get the fuck out... Eivor... coward." His voice was slurred and breathy yet it still felt like a slap on the face to Eivor. Ivarr grabbed the arm of the nun with very little strength and tried to shove it off him. "Do not... touch me, Saxon."

Ceolbert, confused and distressed, stood up and slowly walked towards Eivor, supporting himself with the wooden stick. 

Walked, in reality it was more of Ceolbert hauling himself, whincing when he made a wrong step and the pain from his wound sent discomfort throughout his body. 

Eivor only wished he came for him sooner. The heat in his head had only been rising nonstop, he wanted to scream, and thought he would when he made his way back to Ravensthorpe. He wasn't aware that his hands had curled into fists, nails digging into his palms and his sight was darkening, a high pitched sound boiling from the depths of his ears-- Then, there was a gentle warmth on his wrists, and Eivor's fingers relaxed against the touch, it felt like he was out of the deep, even for a moment. 

"Eivor, I'm fine." Ceolbert took a deep breath, "It- it wasn't Ivarr. Why would he say that?"

It should feel like a heavy burden was lifted off his shoulders, but there was no such relief for Eivor. He thought about making a scene, to maybe beat up Ivarr even more. But he held himself back, running his palm across his face with a sigh. Eivor's expression turned grim, the bridge of his nose wrinkling from his glower. "He's a madman who let himself drown in legends and sagas."

The young Saxon looked him in the eye, it was unsteady but it felt honest, felt like the Ceolbert he knew. "It was actually King Rhodri's men, you know." He began, trembling hands letting go of Eivor's. "One of them managed to hurt me but the wolves came and I rushed into the cave. The rest of them fought the beasts off and... I didn't know what happened next..." 

"Ceolbert, you are... no fun... at all." The Dane coughed, and when Eivor looked at him, he was met with an empty, shallow gaze, then with his remaining energy, Ivarr shifted onto his side, turning his back on the both of them, "You should try lying sometimes." 

Ceolbert looked at Ivarr with a worried expression, eyes blinking rapidly, and his lips twitched the slightest. Eivor knew the boy was frightened for Ivarr's life. 

_Ivarr didn't deserve him._

They both watched as the nun poured water, and what smelled of boiled vinegar on the huge cut on the length of Ivarr's back, and Eivor felt remorseful- it was the skin he used to trace with his fingertips, it was where his nails dug their marks when they were having a rough night- the way Ivarr flinched told them it was painful and yet he kept quiet, not even a whimper. It had always been harder for Eivor to figure Ivarr out when he was silent.

Ceolbert turned his head, sickened by the amount of blood that soaked Ivarr's bedding. "Eivor, I am terribly sorry. If only I had accepted to be accompanied by guards instead of..." he shut his eyes, and Eivor knew the boy must have felt guilt-riddened, "Maybe we could have avoided war... and this."

Eivor looked at the way Ceolbert fiddled with the hem of his shirt, observed the way his eyes had been uneasy ever since he arrived, and still, he can only give him a pat on the shoulders, didn't exactly know what to tell him, but he tried finding his thoughts. "It wasn't your fault, young Ceolbert." His hand tightened on Ceolbert. "Rhodri denied it, but those men broke the truce by attacking you. They only got what they deserved." He glanced at Ivarr quickly, puffing a breath from his nose. "Maybe Ivarr was right. I did not trust that the late King would keep to his words once you are Ealdorman."

There was a small pause between them, unknowing of what else to tell each other, and the sound of water being squeezed from the bloodied cloth trickling down to the basin filled the room. Even that sounded too loud for Eivor in that confined space.

Ceolbert sighed and nodded. "We... we should eat dinner." 

Eivor, before going out of the tent, gave Ivarr one last look. His breathing was calm, and his body was still, showing no resistance towards the nun anymore. "You are yet to live another day..." he mumbled to himself, and when he stepped out of the compact, dimly lit shelter, it might have been the breeze or the clear, crystal sky, but there was a faint steadyness in his head. 

The events of Sciropescire passed like the leaves in Fall, slowly, little by little, leaving Eivor with thoughts that tormented him when Winter came. Nightmares of his blade digging into Ivarr's skin, or dreams of his hand exploring every inch of Ivarr's body. When Spring arrived, Eivor was reunited with his brother, and from then on, his heart began to mend. The warmth of English summer burned away the cold emptiness Ivarr had left of him. 

Eivor still thought about him, he let himself from time to time, the year that passed allowing him to do so without much pain. They did have some good memories together.

Eivor leaned back on his seat, looking past the veil of smoke and at nothing in particular, tired from today's work.

_Work._

He shut his eyes, and threw his head back, listening to the fire crackling in front of him. 

Ever since he became Jarl, it was as if his days were only getting longer. Although, the free time the Yuletide Season had given him was very much appreciated- which meant more time to sit alone in the longhouse, thinking about his past lover.

Which was no better, anyway. 

Eivor's thoughts were interrupted when the longhouse doors were opened, chatters from outside, and the winter night breeze circling in the interior, the tongues of flame starting to burn up brighter. Eivor sank on his seat, lazy and relaxed, elbow propped on the armrest, eyeing his brother as he made his way inside with an alehorn in hand. 

"Eivor Jarl, everyone's looking for you." Sigurd gave him a cheeky smile and Eivor tried not to scoff at the teasing way he said his title. "Birna, especially. Said she wanted to embarrass the Jarl in a brawl." Sigurd took a sip from his alehorn, grinning after he had put it down. "That I'd pay to see."

Eivor laughed, arms falling onto his side, "Make sure you do not pass out so soon then, brother."

Sigurd sat on the long table in front of him, and then downed his drink, releasing a long 'ah' when he finished every last drop. "Gods, what does Tekla put in here?" He raised his alehorn, looking at it with bright eyes and an even brighter smile. 

"Perhaps she used the bear piss she asked me to get a few days ago." Eivor's smirk was received with a scowl from Sigurd.

"May Thor smite you for putting that thought in my head, Wolf-kissed."

Eivor shook his head, laughing lightly at the disgusted look that never left Sigurd's face. "What brings you here, brother? Tired of the celebration?"

Sigurd crossed his arm, "The question is, why are you here, Eivor Jarl?" He relaxed on his seat, legs stretched on the ground, but his gaze was no less intense. "You should be out there, drinking, celebrating. You didn't prepare this feast just so you can sit here alone in the dark."

"I prepared it for the people." Eivor replied, looking down at the hearth in front of him, watching the embers glow, hoping to avoid the conversation.

Sigurd scrunched up his nose, and then swatted the air around him, "Eivor, you haven't been out of this longhouse much for as long as I can remember. Don't you think it'll raise the people's spirits to see their Jarl celebrating with them?"

Eivor bit his lower lip, still avoiding meeting Sigurd's gaze, the fumes from the fire and smoke making its way into his eyes. "Brother, I..." he sighed, trying to pick his words back into his mouth. "I simply needed to be with my thoughts."

"Ah. Eivor you worry too much about these Earthly things."

Eivor did not answer, lips twitching as he tried to gather his thoughts, unsure of what to answer Sigurd with. Not that he ever knew how to deal with his babblings after... everything that happened.

Sigurd stared at him with a raised brow, but he did not question more. His reaction quickly morphed into a cheeky grin, a change of mood that Eivor wasn't ready for, but appreciated. "Drink more, Wolf-kissed. Do not dwell on the past. We deserve this glorious feast."

Eivor snorted. "I do need to try Tekla's brew."

"Then go out there, Eivor, and be merry. There are barrels and barrels of Tekla's brew waiting for you." Sigurd stood up, raising his empty alehorn to Eivor.

"And you?" Eivor asked, still sat on his chair.

Sigurd laughed. "Do you need me to hold your hand while you drink, Wolf-kissed?" He placed the alehorn on the table, then stretched his arms. "I've had enough drinks for today."

Eivor stayed quiet, chin propped on his hand, and never moving an inch from his seat.

Sigurd gave him a curious look, the mood between them lowering once again. "You're never one to dally when it comes to drinking, Eivor." He sighed, heavy, almost bothered, and Eivor sat up straight, glancing at Sigurd. "Whatever it is that's been bothering you, better sleep it off."

There was a small silence between them, the chatters and cheerings from outside faded with the wind that passed through the open attic of the longhouse

Sigurd took another breath. "Well then... I am going to bed."

Eivor appreciated the digression. He really did not want to deepen the conversation any longer. After bidding his brother good night, he watched Sigurd walk back to his room, yawning as he took his leathers off from himself with his one hand. 

Eivor felt himself surrender to the lull of the night, so he stood up and prepared for bed. It wasn't a second later when Sigurd peeked from his bedroom's curtains, hair already untied, and then another yawn as he spoke.

"I forgot to say, brother. Ceolbert should be arriving a few days from now." 

Eivor nodded, "Yes, Randvi told me earlier." And then another good night was exchanged between the two of them before they each turned in. 

It was a week ago that the young man had sent word about his plan to visit Ravensthorpe for the Yule festival. Eivor was looking forward to having him, for it had been a whole winter since he last saw the boy. And although he felt bad for never visiting again after what had happened, the letters they exchanged throughout the seasons proved Ceolbert to be more understanding than Eivor thought. 

"I should have the guest room ready..." Eivor muttered to himself, and after taking his clothes off, he let sleep take him. 

Eivor spread his arms and legs on his bed. Some nights it felt even bigger, emptier than it should be

The third day of the Yuletide Feast had begun, and Eivor was bantering with his brother, who was staggering all over the place, for miserably losing a drinking game so early in the morning, when Sunniva called for him. 

"Eivor Jarl, good morning." She nodded, "Sigurd," her posture was straight, and her tone was formal.

Eivor did not miss the way she glanced at Sigurd, as if she wanted to laugh at his current state, but was held back by something. Many days it had happened. And Eivor wondered if he was imagining things, but she used to talk to them more... freely.

"King Ceolwulf's son had been spotted near our Northern border. He should be arriving anytime soon." She added.

The news livened Eivor up, "I should see him warmly welcomed. Does he come with anyone?"

"I wasn't told if he was, Eivor Jarl."

 _'Eivor Jarl'_. Her words grinded against Eivor's ears.

Sigurd snorted, drunk, and only getting drunker with a mug of ale in his hand. "After defying death once, I don't think his father, and the Bishop would let him out of their sights alone." A burp, "Ever." And then a hiccup, "I wouldn't be surprised if he has the whole Mercian army with him." Sigurd laughed, downing his drink once more. 

Eivor chuckled, "That would have been a sight, brother." 

Sigurd shook his head, still laughing as he made his way back to the center of the feast, probably to get more ale.

Eivor turned to Sunniva, "Prepare a treat for Ceolbert. I want Tarben's best cakes and Tekla's special mead. Bring it to the longhouse."

"At once, my Jarl." 

Eivor ignored the overtly formal way Sunniva talked to him, making his way to the museum instead where he should welcome Ceolbert, leather boots crunching against the snow covered road, the cold winds greeting his face and tickling his beard, blowing golden locks that fell just below his shoulder blades. The tips of his ear had reddened from the winter breeze, and his breath rendered itself visible as he exhaled at the sight in front of him. Ceolbert was dismounting his horse, and behind him was another, his companion, Eivor assumed. And it was as if there was an unbearable buzzing sound in his ear, a firestorm churning in his head when he finally recognized the other man as Ivarr Ragnarsson. 

Eivor took a deep breath. 

"Eivor!" He heard Ceolbert call him, the boy was practically running to give him a huge hug. He had grown, Eivor noticed. Not much, but he did reach his eye level, it was more of... he had grown wider, almost rougher. High cheekbones defined his facial structure, no the longer puffy cheeked boy he was. 

Eivor kept the hug longer than he normally would, unsure if letting go meant he had to talk to Ivarr next. Fortunately for Eivor, it seemed like the Dane was busy unloading his things. He didn't bring much compared to what was on Ceolbert's horse, double axes on his hips, and a cloak for the cold, then a satchel, probably with food. 

Eivor watched, stared, as Ivarr took his cloak off, he hadn't changed much, it was still the same silhouette that Eivor had gotten used to, the same tight arms that he either wrestled with or held. Then, Ivarr met his gaze.

Eivor blinked rapidly, shifting his sight to nothing really, maybe the snow falling on the ground, and Ceolbert helped him snap out of his thoughts by wriggling under the hug. Eivor awkwardly let go of the boy, clapping his back, and with a light laugh to ease the tension he felt. "You've grown, Ceolbert."

"Not really a boy anymore, is he?" Ivarr was walking towards them, shining his axe with a cloth, wearing a pompous grin. 

Gods, it was only a few hours after the sun had risen and Eivor already felt like pulling the moon back to the sky. 

"You seem as if you're preparing for a fight, Ivarr." Eivor replied, arms folding onto his chest when the Dane widened the tug of his lips. 

"Wolf-kissed, you still have some very dark thoughts about me." He put away his axe, hanging it back on the leather wrapped around his hips, "You know how well I love my weapons. Three and half days on the road with Ceolbert have dulled them."

He did know. He remembered well how Ivarr treated his blades, well enough that Eivor might even consider those axes as Ivarr's true lovers. Eivor scoffed, only it somehow came out as a little laugh. "No bandits to shine them with?"

"Fortunately no." Ceolbert added. Eivor barely noticed that the young man was already carrying his things. He looked at Eivor as if he knew he had some explaining to do as to why Ivarr was with him, lips bitten shut, and his fingers tapping quickly on the satchel he carried. 

"We should go back to the longhouse, get you two settled in. Tell me about your travels, Ceolbert." Eivor led them back, and maybe it was the sun getting higher in the sky, but he felt heat crawl under his skin.

Ceolbert told him about the journey to Ravensthorpe over the cakes and mead Sunniva had brought them, mostly about the complaints Ivarr had on horseback, much to the Dane's displeased grunts. 

"You don't get it, Ceolbert. I would have stormed the nearest bandit camp out of boredom." Ivarr rolled his eyes, strawberry tart still hanging from his lips. Then, he looked at Eivor. "You... you would understand, Wolf-kissed. Gods save me from Saxons and their need to pray every fucking time of the day." He took a sip from his drink. "Do you know how many times we've stopped just so he could offer some prayers to his God?" 

Eivor let himself laugh, let himself enjoy Ivarr's company as if they had always been good friends. "I assume once was enough, Ivarr."

"Fucking right!" He slammed his mug on the table. "Finally, someone gets it."

"And yet you still came with me." Ceolbert smiled, and Eivor watched with amusement.

Ivarr took another sip from his drink, raising his brows at Eivor. "I have his father to thank for that." 

Eivor waited for another word from Ivarr, but the Dane only continued eating and drinking. He was curious, actually, about how in the world Ivarr the Boneless was convinced to chaperone Ceolbert. He knew Ivarr was fond of the boy, but to come to Ravensthorpe... perhaps the weight of what had happened between them simply wasn't as heavy for Ivarr as it was for him. 

And maybe he too, should let it stay in the past.

"My father thought a couple of Mercian soldiers would attract attention from bandits, or even Britons." Ceolbert said, stuffing his mouth with a blueberry tart.

"And the face of a Ragnarsson wouldn't?" Eivor smirked.

Ceolbert gave him a little laugh. "If it did, he wouldn't have been complaining throughout the whole trip."

"And he would have arrived here with... much more blood" Eivor brought his ale mug to his lips, drinking slowly.

"Ah, come now, Eivor Jarl," 

Eivor's eyes darted on Ivarr, unsure of how to take the flippant way the Dane said his title.

"We both know you like seeing me covered in blood." Ivarr leered at him, it was quick, and he doubted that Ceolbert noticed, but oh.

_Oh._

There was fire inside Eivor. A burning heat that wanted to wipe the grin off Ivarr's face.

Their conversation went on for what must have been hours with Randvi and Sigurd eventually joining in, the passing of time was barely noticeable with the amount of stories Ceolbert had told them about, from the small things like hunting his first lynx, to his duties as the upcoming Ealdorman, although he seemed to avoid the latter. Ivarr went out after finishing his mead, to piss he said, but he never came back even until Eivor noticed that the sky had already turned golden red. 

"It's great to have you here again, young Ceolbert." Sigurd said from across the table. "Would you be studying swordfight with Eivor?" His tone was proud. "I'll have you know that I still consider him my best fighter."

Eivor shook his head with a chuckle when Sigurd flashed him a grin.

"I've come for Randvi, actually, for academics." She peered from her ale mug when Ceolbert mentioned her name. "I don't think I've had a better teacher than her."

Randvi gave the young man a smile. "I'm honoured to take the future Ealdorman of Sciropescire under my wing. Once again."

"You're right to come to her. She has been dying to talk to someone about her maps and geography, and all that." Eivor teased. 

Randvi stood up from her seat, leaning on the table to reach the blueberry tart placed in the middle. "And the two of you didn't prove to be such good pupils." She looked at Eivor, then Sigurd, smiling as she made her way back to her seat. 

Ceolbert watched them banter for a while, his face beaming with warmth. "Although I wouldn't decline a hunt or two with Eivor." He scratched his cheek. "I assume you'd be a much...lenient mentor than Ivarr."

Eivor laughed, he did not need to ask how Ivarr had been training the young man, he could make up a couple of ridiculous scenarios in his head and they would probably be right. 

"And, well... I could learn something about how to run a settlement. I've made some friends in Sciropescire. They're my age." He held his mug tightly, eyes uneasy as he continued his words. "I'm afraid they'll treat me... differently... when I become Ealdorman."

Eivor went quiet, downing his drink and then clearing his throat after, the taste of ale heavy in his mouth.

Eivor sighed. "I'm sure you'll figure things out during your stay here." He stood up, pushing the bench with the back of his knees. "For now, let's give you a tour of the festival, why don't we?"

The sun had set, and the deep night sky only brightened the huge bonfire at the center of the feast, embers sparking as the people danced and celebrated around it. Eivor, together with Randvi and Ceolbert went around the festival, letting the young man try out different activites like the archery challenge, commending the way his aim stayed true.

He was trained by a Ragnarsson, after all.

_Ivarr._

It wasn't that Eivor was looking for him, he just felt as if his eyes wandered, searching for a familiar figure past the ocean of people. It didn't take very long until he was separated from Ceolbert and Randvi, who were occupied with stories of England. 

When he had spotted Ivarr, Eivor was sat on a bench around the bonfire, drinking, and talking to the people who sat beside him. He didn't really know them well, they were mostly outsiders who just wanted a good look of Ravensthorpe.

And he was busy following the Ragnarsson with his gaze.

Eivor knew Ivarr wasn't very fond of honestly befriending people, so it wasn't a surprise that the Dane was just going around the festival, tasting food from merchants, casually threatening to hang them by the ballsack if they didn't give him a free piece of ham. 

Eivor rolled his eyes.

 _He never changed_ , Eivor thought. Still the huge arse he was. 

Eivor peered from his ale mug when a voice called for him, facing a man who introduced himself only a minute earlier-- he sounded Saxon, but Eivor really didn't pay much attention to him further than that. Behind the man was where Eivor's focus lied, Ivarr stood not in the center, but it was as if a sea of red-faced drunkards parted just to reveal to Eivor the furthest thing from Christian Moses. 

Ivarr was talking to Wallace, his expression was smug, and the tanner's cheers only seemed to had widened the grin on his face. 

That was one way to get Eivor's attention... even more.

"Eivor Jarl" the Saxon man beside him started, and it was all Eivor heard from windows of attention before his gaze shifted onto Ivarr again. 

A crowd had formed around Ivarr, roused up by Wallace, shouting about the legendary Ragnarsson doing the honours of cutting a huge black boar him and Petra had caught last week for the feast. It was already dead when it lied on the table, stuffed with what Eivor assumed were herbs. 

"Ten silver for those who say that Ivarr Ragnarsson could cut up this beast in one big swoop of his mighty axe!" Wallace passed around a tankard, cheerings and murmurs circulating around the area as the crowd got bigger. 

"Hah! How many shit eating horse sons claiming to be a Ragnarsson have I seen today?!" A Norseman shouted, staggering under a tree as he drowned himself in ale.

He was only able to take another sip before Ivarr launched his axe onto the tree trunk behind him, barely missing an inch of his head, and Eivor did not know if that was piss or spilled ale dripping from the merchant's trousers. Probably both.

"Anyone else who have their doubts can come discuss it with me and my other axe." Ivarr was all grin, proud and intimidating, and Wallace took the chance to liven up the crowd even more, increasing the bet to twenty silver.

Eivor scoffed against his drink. "Show off." And then a smile.

When things had calmed down for a second, he noticed the Saxon beside him move closer, his thigh touching his, and with no intention of pulling back.

He would have cared about it, really, but other than being used to getting flirted with even more ever since he became Jarl- lots of them with other motives too- Eivor couldn't take his eyes off the way Ivarr prepared to strike the boar, ready to cut its head. He shamelessly watched the way taut biceps flexed and showed themselves from the space between Ivarr's short sleeve and bracers, eyeing his left arm until he reached Ivarr's back. He had gotten wider too, Eivor noticed. Although, nothing could be any wider than the grin he wore, and Eivor wanted to see Ivarr's smile turn into broken breathing as he took him--

Eivor snapped out of it. 

The Saxon beside him introduced himself, Eivor didn't quite catch his name, but he was a soldier, he said. Men and women working for Kings aren't really Eivor's type. Not that he had an exact type, anyway. He just liked them free-sprited, maybe a bit unpredictable; although, that unpredictablity already caused him more problems than he had bargained for. 

Eivor's gaze fell back to Ivarr, and to the roaring crowd around him, but mostly Ivarr. He had his left arm raised with axe in hand. And in one swing of it, he cut the head of the roasted boar in a swift, and clean motion, earning a loud cheer from the excited audience who wanted their bellies filled.

Wallace stood on the table, raising the boar's head, its juice dripping onto his hand, and Eivor could smell it from where he was, feeling his stomach grumble from the savoury aroma. 

"What did I tell ya? Ivarr Ragnarsson, ladies and gentlemen!" The tanner shouted, putting the head down, and preparing his knives to serve the roast as the people continued cheering. He put the first slice on a wooden plate and walked to Ivarr, who was once again tending to his axes. Wallace gave him a pat on the shoulder. 

"Friend! It is only natural that you take the best piece. It's the loin. Very tender-"

Ivarr shoved the hand off himself. "We are not friends. Don't touch me, man." He said through narrow eyes, and Eivor almost stood up to intervene, but then, Ivarr laughed, his sarcastic smile turning into a cackle. It seemed normal enough, but Eivor knew it was even more caustic. He remembered it as the laugh Ivarr did before he went to hang a Saxon spy on a tree, and it was no surprise that Wallace was standing still, poor man was trembling in his boots.

"I'm kidding, Walter! Lighten up!" Ivarr grabbed the the wooden plate and made his way to the barrel of ale nearby. 

Eivor noticed Wallace mumble something to himself as the tanner went back to serve more slices to the others. He shook his head. 

_Damn Ivarr_. 

He lost him again, and the Saxon beside him had gotten uncomfortably close. Eivor stood up, faced the man, and tried his best not to tell him to fuck off. 

"You, fuck off."

Eivor sighed at the voice. He looked up to see Ivarr, standing tall over the Saxon, the plate of meat resting on his left hand, and a tankard of ale on the other

The soldier scurried, and Eivor sat back on the bench, Ivarr offering him a piece of meat as he took the seat beside him. 

"I expected you to tell him that yourself." Ivarr took a bite from his slice. 

Eivor snorted, taking the ale from Ivarr's other hand instead. "You beat me to it." He took a sip. 

Ivarr smirked, and Eivor tried not to indulge him too much.

"Your people make good food, Wolf-kissed." Ivarr sprawled his legs out, relaxing on the bench. He took another bite from the meat, and then let the half of it hang from the corner of his mouth as he took the ale back from Eivor. 

Eivor looked at him, and he started cussing himself on the inside because, by the Gods, of course the first thing his hand did was grab half of the meat from Ivarr's lips to taste it himself. 

Not indulging Ivarr was really going well for Eivor. 

"Wallace may not seem like it, but he's a good cook." A useless attempt at diverging the conversation. Ivarr was already grinning at him, and Eivor was pretty sure the Dane stared as he ate the slice he took from him.

"If you were anybody else, I would have axed you for that." 

"Good thing I'm not just anybody else." Eivor was trying not to appear smug, he knew it would only challenge Ivarr more, but it was proving to be difficult. He hated the way the Dane looked at him, it was almost as sharp as his grin, peering from dark lashes, and the night was only deepening the blue in his eyes. He hated that they openly shared a tankard of ale together like they used to many times before. And he hated that he knew exactly where all of that led to. 

"You're right, Eivor Jarl." Ivarr teased, emphasizing his title, and leering at Eivor when he gave him a small scowl. "Not quite fond of that title, are you?"

Eivor grabbed the tankard back, and downed it, finishing the drink in one gulp. "Change the conversation, Ivarr."

Ivarr laughed, taking the ale back from Eivor, and then pulling a face after finding out that it was completely empty. "Wolf-kissed, you drink as if you're preparing for a night you want to forget."

"Talking to you sober is never a good idea."

"Then we can do something else other than talk."

Eivor shook his head with a smile. "What do you mean, Ragnarsson?"

"You look like you need a good lay, Eivor." Ivarr took another bite, finishing off his meal.

"And you mean with you?" Eivor's smile widened, lazy and taunting.

"Who else is better?"

"Lots of people, Ivarr." 

Ivarr scoffed. "Like that Saxon earlier?"

"Well, he was... attractive... Well put together." Eivor said, tone almost tentative.

"Wolf-kissed, please." Ivarr leaned in closer, an irritatingly self-satisfied grin on his face. "You barely looked at the piss licker."

Eivor practically choked on his spit. Ivarr knew he wasn't wrong, and his smile had only gotten more annoying. 

"You wouldn't have liked him in bed." Ivarr added, and Eivor raised a brow to his statement. "Too submissive."

"What do you know about what I like?" Eivor considered it a stupid question, and yet it was all he could say with the heat rising through his body, Ivarr being close enough for his own comfort, with an intense gaze that Eivor was all too familiar with.

"I seem to have forgotten, Wolf-kissed. Why don't you remind me?"

If there was one thing Ivarr was good at, it was riling Eivor up with his fucking smile, well, more like everything he did, to be honest. But mostly the way he grinned. Because that usually challenged Eivor to step up, making sure Ivarr didn't stay a smug bastard through the whole night- and Eivor was very knowledgable in the ways of shutting Ivarr Ragnarsson up.

Ivarr was only about an inch close to Eivor, and he could hear him breathe, the heat shooting down to his crotch, as much as it frustrated him. Eivor looked him in the eye, and he knew that the moment he started dragging Ivarr from the center of the feast back to the longhouse, he was going to regret it come morning. His lips met Ivarr's in a haze, all tongues and teeth, pushing the Dane against the dark, wooden walls of his room, and Eivor let himself wallow in Ivarr's taste. Ale, roasted boar, and a memory full of blood. And perhaps it was the heat of the moment, but it felt surprisingly good on Eivor's tongue.

Eivor crawled his hands all over Ivarr hastily, earning a chuckle from the Dane, and Eivor thought the best thing to do to stop him from saying something overbearing was to bite his lip, grazing his teeth against the skin as Ivarr pulled him closer. 

"Still a biter, Eivor." Ivarr grinded against him, deepening the kiss and sucking on Eivor's tongue. He grabbed Eivor by the hair, running his hand along the long, golden locks, then he pushed him back until they hit the opposite wall with Ivarr pinning Eivor against it. 

Ivarr broke the kiss, scanning Eivor with half lidded eyes, "You grew your hair. Don't think I didn't notice." And Eivor's heart drummed against his chest, leaning in closer to give Ivarr another kiss. 

The kiss was quick, and Eivor couldn't figure out if it actually felt tender or if it was just because of how Ivarr played with his hair, twirling his braid around his finger, and lightly tugging on it, and when Ivarr had parted with lips, he moved onto his locks, planting a trail of kisses on his head. Eivor tilted, leading Ivarr lower to his ear. 

Eivor ran his hand along the length of Ivarr's back, annoyed at the leathers and fabric in between them. "Ivarr... take it off." He felt Ivarr titter against the kisses- marks he had been placing on Eivor's skin, but the Dane followed nonetheless. 

"Your impatience is arousing." 

Eivor returned the grin Ivarr wore, hurriedly taking off any piece clothing he had before crawling onto the bed, watching Ivarr undress himself. "Ivarr,"

The Dane was in the middle of taking his belts off when he turned to Eivor's call. "What?"

Eivor smirked, "Come closer." Eivor sat on the edge of his bed, raising a leg when Ivarr moved closer. His foot slowly traced Ivarr's stomach, moving down to his belt. "Remove it." 

Ivarr did as he was told, taking the leathers off as Eivor massaged his clothed crotch with his foot. He let his accessories fall onto the floor, grunting as he got harder against Eivor. 

Eivor stared, eyes devouring Ivarr's body as he stood in front of him. Taking sight of his wide chest and cut shoulders, muscles tightening when Eivor's toes traced his hardened cock under his trousers. Satisfied with the reaction he had gotten from Ivarr, Eivor's gaze moved on to the scars that marked his skin-he memorised all of it, where every scar was located, big and small, and how Ivarr got most of it. There were new ones, it seemed. Eivor ran his foot on the waistband of Ivarr's trousers, pulling it down until it pooled on the Dane's thighs, taking his erection out. Eivor would have taken him in his mouth right there and then, but on the corner of Ivarr's hip was a scar that Eivor knew too well. It was only a small part of what lined the middle of his back, thick and deep. 

"Is staring all you're going to do, Eivor?" Ivarr raised a brow. "Or are you going to tell me what I should do next?"

Eivor sneered at him, "Who's submissive now?" 

Ivarr pushed Eivor onto the bed in a swift motion, spreading his legs apart and stepping on his cock. "You tell me, Wolf-kissed." Eivor moaned at the rough skin against his exposed erection, squirming on the sheets as Ivarr pressed harder. "I've missed those sounds."

"Arse." Eivor scowled.

"Yes I know, I have a great one."

Eivor laughed lightly. It wasn't the time to dwell on what had happened. 

"Come over here, Ivarr." Eivor pulled him closer, his index finger taking him by the chin, until Ivarr was kneeling on the bed in front of him. 

"So bossy." Ivarr grinned, self-satisfied. Annoying, Eivor thought.

"You won't be smiling when I'm through with you, Ragnarsson." Eivor pushed him onto the bed, meeting his lips the moment Ivarr was lying on his back. Eivor sucked on everything he could, teeth nipping Ivarr's lower lip as his hand palmed his cock, fingers wrapping around the length of it. He felt Ivarr jerk against his touch, and he wouldn't deny the smug feeling boiling up in his chest from seeing Ivarr shudder with his touch. Eivor quickened his pace, knew that Ivarr disliked it when starting out. 

Ivarr broke the kiss, releasing an annoyed grunt at the quick, rough friction against his crotch. "What are you trying to accomplish, Eivor?" 

Eivor smirked, "Shut up Ivarr, and let me fuck you." His lips trailed down to Ivarr's neck, leaving his marks, bites and kisses that were sure to bruise, down to his chest, his beard grazing against thick skin. Eivor went lower, sucking on the skin around Ivarr's hip until he reached his cock, teasing the tip with swirls of his tongue but never taking it in. 

He was getting impatient, honestly, but the way Ivarr gazed at him through lazy eyes, like he wanted to shove himself in Eivor's mouth as soon as he could, was adding to the thrill. Even if Eivor really wasn't in the mood to wait either. 

Eivor gave it a long lick from the base to its tip, looking Ivarr in the eye as he did it; the Dane's hand grabbing a fistful of his hair, and grinning when Eivor's lip puckered on the head. 

Ivarr aligned himself onto Eivor's mouth with his one hand, the other tight on Eivor's locks, rubbing the tip of his cock on his lips, "Suck on it, Wolf-Kissed." He cooed, and Eivor did as he was told, cheeks hollowing as he bobbed his head down, the thickness of it filling up his mouth. The heat in his stomach was was churned by the way Ivarr watched him, tugging him by the hair with both hands and urging him to go deeper, and Eivor tried not to lose himself at the way Ivarr groaned, his hands crawling on the Dane's torso to hold anything he could as he took him deeper inside his mouth. 

Eivor felt himself harden as Ivarr thrusted against him, felt the tip of his cock hit his throat. A few more had Eivor choking, releasing it from his mouth to take a breath. 

Ivarr laughed. "How long has it been since you got someone that deep, Wolf-kissed?" 

Eivor rolled his eyes, clearing his throat. "You don't have to know."

"I'd say I was still the last one." 

It was the truth Eivor would never admit, because it would only massage Ivarr's ego, which was already sky high at the moment. And knowing him, Eivor was sure that Ivarr already knew the answer. He was just being an arse about it. 

"Come, Eivor." Ivarr sat up, pulling him into light kisses as he played with his braid, taking in Eivor's cock in his hand and giving it the attention it so badly needed. 

Ivarr also had these moments that Eivor never knew how to react to. It was sort of easier to deal with his bastard side. Still, Eivor let himself take pleasure from Ivarr's touch, the lips that traced his jaw, moving to the scars on his neck, running his fingers through Ivarr's dark locks as the Dane's slick palm worked on his cock. Perhaps it was the familiarity, but Eivor hadn't felt like that in quite a while. 

"Ivarr... oil... under my bed..." Eivor groaned at the sudden twist of Ivarr's wrist. "Hurry..."

Ivarr only continued kissing Eivor, nibbling on his ear as his grip tightened around his cock, free hand putting in fingers on Eivor's mouth to suck on. 

Eivor let him, unwanting to let go of the Dane too. He pushed him back onto the bed, climbing on top of him to grind against his cock, Eivor's tongue still swirling on Ivarr's fingers.

"You plan to go all the way tonight, Wolf-kissed?" His tone was teasing, but Eivor didn't miss heavy gaze Ivarr had, as if he was yearning for him. 

Eivor did not answer, putting down Ivarr's hand before grabbing the bottle of oil from under his bed, popping the cork, and pouring it on Ivarr's palm. The scent lingered in the room, it was pleasant enough, but Eivor preferred the raw smell of Ivarr's body, sweat, ale, and gods know what, but it felt nostalgic. 

With a kiss, Eivor guided Ivarr's oiled fingers onto his entrance, hunching down on top of him as he took a breath. He noticed Ivarr stare deeply, it was almost unsettling, then he kissed him, it was slow but with no less teeth, drowning in Eivor's moan when Ivarr pressed his finger in. Eivor's hands moved back onto the Dane's side, grasping on the sheets as he moved inside him. 

Ivarr deepened the kiss, sucking on Eivor's tongue as he added another finger, taking his time to stretch him on the inside, drawing rough breaths from Eivor. 

Eivor grunted at the slow pace, impatient, and reached for Ivarr's hand, taking his fingers out. Eivor slicked his own with oil, and proceeded to prepare himself, immediately putting two digits in, much to Ivarr's amusement. Eivor's free arm supported him on top of Ivarr, hand pressed down on the bed while his other scissored him on the inside. 

Eivor did not know if he took more pleasure from finger fucking himself or from the way Ivarr watched him, lying on his back with his hand on Eivor's thigh, wearing the grin that annoyed Eivor so much, but also aroused him so. 

And Eivor's frustrations must have been accumulating. He took Ivarr's cock in his hand and positioned himself on top, taking out his fingers and pressing the tip of it on his hole, looking Ivarr in the eye. 

"Don't take your eyes off me." It felt lewd, shameful, but he had said dirtier things to Ivarr than that. Eivor sank onto Ivarr's cock, watching the Dane groan when he had taken half of him inside. 

"Going hard already, Wolf-kissed?" Ivarr held him by the waist.

Eivor couldn't help the tug of his lips, slowly pulling from Ivarr before going down again, his hand resting on Ivarr's chest, curling into fists when he thrusted against him. At first, the pace was steady, slow, and it was killing Eivor. He never knew where the impatience was from when it came to being with Ivarr, didn't know why he was always so eager. It was never like that for anyone else, and Eivor decided that it was because Ivarr was a smug bastard, and the sooner he got to wipe the stupid shit-eating grin off his face, the better. And what else was a better way than to take his cock balls-deep inside him. And so he took him deeper until he reached the base of his erection, the thickness filling him up and stretching him out, feeling it throb inside him. 

Ivarr's grip on his skin tightened, and Eivor hoped they would make their marks. 

A few more slow and careful thrusts had Eivor settled, adjusted, ready to speed up to his own pace, to finally take Ivarr the way he wanted to. His nails were digging onto the Dane's chest as he rode him faster, rising and falling on top of Ivarr like some rough horseride, catching his breath every time Ivarr would match him with thrusts that sent lightning bolts throughout his body. Ivarr held his cock, giving it a few pumps, and Eivor desired the attention, cupping Ivarr's hand with his own to tighten the grip around his own erection. 

Eivor's moans were shaky, loud, yet it surprisingly matched the rhythm him and Ivarr had been going at. Everything felt good, intimate, as if he knew every inch of Ivarr and what made him melt under his touch, so Eivor let himself call out to him, maybe just for that night, he would indulge Ivarr. 

"Ivarr," Eivor said through windows of heavy breathing. Ivarr looked at him, blue eyes dark in the dim lighting of his room, and raised a hand to cup his cheek, hunching him down to take his lips as he did all the thrusting, hitting Eivor's spot that he knew so well, and all Eivor could do was firmly hold the wooden headboard, muscles flexing and sweat dripping as he got prodded hard and deep. 

"I love it when you say my name, Eivor." Ivarr's kiss dragged onto his cheeks, hand playing with his locks, and Eivor knew he was teasing him, knew what sort of egotistical smile he wore. Eivor loved it, loved the way Ivarr called him too, voice low and quiet, different from his usual antagonistic tone. 

Eivor sat back up, taking Ivarr's hands to map his body as he bounced on top of him, back arching every time he felt Ivarr's cock buried in him. Eivor let himself lose to Ivarr's touch, speed increasing to the tune of the Dane's groans under him.

Eivor loomed over Ivarr, watching with a satisfied smile as his body twitched when Eivor took long, hard thrusts, pulling himself up until only the head remained inside, then shoving himself back down.

Ivarr's moans had gotten messy, filthy, fingers digging deep on Eivor's waist. "Eivor, you are going to drive me insane."

"I know." Eivor heaved. "I did plan to wipe that grin off your face."

Ivarr gave him a breathy laugh, wiping the sweat off Eivor's face with his hand, and combing the wet hair that strayed across his forehead, and Eivor noticed how Ivarr looked at him amidst the haze of sex, a hint of longing in his eyes, and his touch was almost too gentle. Although, those moments did not linger, it was Ivarr Ragnarsson after all, his hands had moved down to Eivor's cock, jerking him off, their skins slapping against each other. 

Eivor supported himself on Ivarr's chest, leaving scratches on rough skin. He knew Ivarr was near, with the way his hand around his cock had slowed down, foggy eyes rolling up, moaning out the things in his mind- all of it Eivor's name. With a few more thrusts, Eivor felt Ivarr release inside of him, felt him shiver as he continued riding him when he came, and a hand made its way back onto his erection. It must have been the way Ivarr looked at him through his orgasm, or how his cock twitched inside of him, or the heat that had been burning him throughout the day, but it didn't take long for Eivor himself to come, hot white flashing before his eyes, and spilling on Ivarr's hand and chest. 

"Eivor..." Ivarr called him, pulling him down by the hair to meet his lips. 

They stayed like that for a while, with Eivor on top, and Ivarr grabbing a fistful of his locks, sucking on each other's tongue, and neither of them pulling back. Ivarr's arms had made their way around Eivor, hands crawling down to the middle of his back. They were warm like Ivarr's lips, soft, nostalgic. Almost vulnerable. 

And Eivor wasn't ready for it.

He sat up, breaking free from Ivarr's grasp. "You seem eager to hold me again. We've just finished." 

Ivarr blinked, "Don't flatter yourself, Wolf-kissed." And then a smirk. "You're the one who's still on top of me."

Eivor replied with a small laugh. He sat up, giving a good, quick look at Ivarr. "The last time I was on top of you..." Eivor trailed off. He didn't know what he was about to say, thought he'd make a poor joke out of it, but he noticed how Ivarr's smile faded, lips flat lining and gaze emptying. 

_Ah_ , Eivor thought. _He remembered_. 

"Don't ruin the moment Eivor." Ivarr pushed him off, sitting up as Eivor fell onto the bed beside him. 

Eivor eyed the scar on his back, large, full of memories. Ones he'd rather forget. He raised a hand, wanted to run it along the edges of Ivarr's back, but he stopped himself.

"I'm going to take a piss." Ivarr stood up, walking out from Eivor's sight. 

He didn't return for the night, and when Eivor surrendered to sleep, thoughts heavy of Ivarr, his bed, again, felt larger, and emptier than it should be. 

For the next few days that passed, Eivor occupied himself with the feast, with Ceolbert coming along to see how he managed things. Not that there was much to see. The Yule season gave him more free time than usual.

Him and Ivarr let their bodies talk during the night. No more, no less. None of them was ever willing to bring up what happened in the past, and for a while, it was fine for Eivor. Perhaps, it was alright like that. Just how it was before- sharing drinks, sharing beds, but never anything more.


	2. Mending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eivor eases some of his growing frustrations with the help of Ceolbert and Ivarr. Although, in very different ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and thank you for waiting!
> 
> I appreciate all the support. Thank you very much. Glad people are enjoying this brainrot.
> 
> I really did plan to make this chapter shorter but somehow it ended up even longer lol.

  
Eivor gasped, feeling himself release not long before Ivarr did. The Dane's hands gripped his hips tightly, and his body was heavy on Eivor's back until he eventually rolled onto the bed to lie beside him.

"Count to a hundred, then I can do it again." There was a low purring from Ivarr's throat when he pulled the covers over his body, looking at Eivor with droopy lids.

Eivor propped himself on a layer of pillows, leaning back on the wooden headboard, sharing the blanket with Ivarr- more like hogging, actually. "I need to be able to walk in the morning."

Ivarr sat up, raising his index finger, as if to tell him to keep quiet, "You hear that? Chickens. It's morning already." Then, he faced Eivor, energized smile hiding his tired eyes. "You can put it in me."

Eivor chuckled. "Is sex all you think about, Ivarr?" 

"When I'm with you, it's hard not to."

Eivor rolled his eyes, shifting to fix the pillows so he could lie properly. "We'll have time the next night." He smiled at Ivarr, wide and cheeky. A smile that quickly- and subtly, Eivor hoped- vanished when Ivarr turned around, the huge scar that marked his back exposing itself to Eivor. 

It was a good night, great even- as were his most nights with Ivarr- so, again like most nights, he dared not talk about the scar. Unsure of what to say, anyway. 

"You should really put a window here, Wolf-kissed." Eivor felt Ivarr settle beside him, welcoming the body heat from the other man. "I'd like to fuck you with it open, too."

Eivor gave him a playful jab with his elbow, smirking when Ivarr caught it easily with his hand. "Shouldn't you be going back to your quarters, Ivarr?"

Ivarr moved closer, giving Eivor a light kiss. "If you continue looking at me like that, I just might not." And then, another kiss. It was ardent, hungry, yet surprisingly affectionate, especially when Ivarr ran a hand through his hair, warm touches crawling to Eivor's arms and raising them to the pillows as Ivarr rolled over him, pinning his wrists on top. 

"Oh dear God, I am so sorry." 

Eivor jolted up at the voice, shoving Ivarr off himself hastily. And maybe a bit too harshly, judging by the way the Ragnarsson grunted when he fell on the floor.

"Ceolbert!" Ivarr beamed, huge and unbothered. He stood up and walked towards the young man, ass bared, and Ceolbert could only divert his eyes from the sight of what was in front when Ivarr had gotten close enough to pat him on the shoulders.

Eivor groaned. "Good morning, Ceolbert." He got up, taking a robe from the rack near his bed. It was deep blue with a few intricate details, almost the length of his knees, and sleeves that hung just until the knuckles of his hand. He put it on as he watched Ivarr practically loom over Ceolbert like a well built Freyr statue, cut and daring, but with much less poise... and more body hair. "Ivarr, leave the poor boy alone." Eivor looked around. "Have you seen my trousers?"

Ivarr shrugged, walking back to the pile of clothes they had discarded during the night.

"I-it's fine, I've seen him bare quite a few times." Ceolbert gave a small laugh. "Although I can't ever get used to it." His last few words were hushed, almost a mutter to himself, eyes fixed at the decorated wooden panels in Eivor's room.

"You Saxons are so sensitive. It's just body." Ivarr's lips twitched upwards, giving a choked laugh as he put his bottoms on.

"You're just shameless." Eivor teased, exchanging grins with Ivarr before moving his focus back to the young man. "What brings you to my quarters, Ceolbert?"

The Saxon perked up, "Oh. I saw Randvi was quite busy, so Sigurd and I thought I can spend some time with the Jarl instead." He said, his eyes moving hastily back and forth between Eivor, who was dressing up, and to the walls, ceiling, anywhere he could avoid the sight of Norsemen skin. Or Dane. "He told me it was fine to go directly to your room... sorry. Again."

"It's alright." Eivor shook his head. _Damn Sigurd_.

"Ah, not wasting any time are you, Ceolbert?" Ivarr picked up a pair of earth coloured trousers from the pile he was nearby and threw it towards Eivor, "Yours, Wolf-kissed."

"Like the past days, I'm afraid I'll bore you with today's schedule." Eivor chuckled, catching his bottoms with ease, and putting it on before he tipped his head, sauntering out of his room with the two. 

"It was never boring, Eivor. I'm sure being a Jarl isn't all about the heavy duties." Ceolbert smiled, "I'd like to know about your daily life."

Eivor didn't speak. There wasn't much in his daily life lately. Unless the young man wanted to know how wilder he may have gotten ever since the Ragnarasson showed his face around.

Not that Eivor would ever admit it.

The sunlight that peeked from the longhouse's attic and slightly parted doors greeted Eivor, making him squint his eyes at the sudden brightness that hit him, the fatigue from the lack of sleep making sure it was well-known throughout Eivor's body. "Is it this late already?" He groaned, raising his hand up to his face to cover it from the sunlight.

Ivarr walked beside him, tying his trousers, shirt hanging on his bare shoulder, wearing his signature grin that Eivor felt he wasn't quite ready for until he had his drink. "You lose track of time when you are with good company." 

"Thor almighty, Wolf-kissed." Sigurd sounded terribly amused, trying to hold back a laugh. He was sat on the bench near the hearth, looking at Eivor like he had just committed a crime, then to Ivarr, who stood beside his brother, scratches and bite marks covering his neck and chest. Sigurd raised his brows, downing his drink, and then saying nothing more. 

"Good morning to you too, Brother." Eivor released a huff, walking towards the tables to grab a tankard of what smelled like mead, drinking it to freshen him up. "Now, Ceolbert," he leaned back on the wooden surface, grabbing a slice of bread from the plate, "To be completely honest with you, I've got nothing worthy of an Ealdorman to do today." 

"Is that why you're lazing around, being fucked by a Ragnarsson til daylight?" Sigurd spoke from his seat, his expression was smug and if Eivor was in the mood, he was sure he would have come up with something witty to say, but his body was aching, and all he could give Sigurd in return was a lopsided smile.

"It's all well, Eivor." Ceolbert said, the shy laugh he had over Sigurd's comment quickly turning bright. "Sometimes it's the little things that count. I've tired of learning about the big responsibilities, and quite frankly, they only scare me at this point."

Eivor nodded. Drinking his mead as his gaze followed Ivarr, who was walking his way out of the longhouse, off to wander Gods know where, then he looked back at Ceolbert. "Well then, let's not keep you waiting. I do need to talk to Petra for the feast's hunt."

The two made their way to Petra's hut, a short walk from where they were. Their pace was slow, and loose, with Eivor rubbing his eyes to ease some of the grogginess. They saw Petra near the tanning station, seemingly worried over a pile of wolf pelts. She looked up to the sound of boots against snow and dirt, smiling when she noticed them approach.

"Good morning, Eivor Jarl." She greeted. "Ealdorman." 

Her voice was stiff when she greeted, and she stood a bit far from Eivor, and it shouldn't be an issue, he thought. But just like Sunniva, she did use to talk to him more freely.

Still, Eivor set aside his thoughts for a while. "Is everything alright, Petra?" 

Petra glanced at the pelts, lips frowning. "Preparing for the hunting game, but the pelts have been terribly soiled. I've washed it thrice, and nothing. I cannot award these to the winner." She exhaled a heavy breath, rubbing a palm on her forehead. 

Eivor blinked his eyes rapidly. If he was being honest he wasn't in the mood to do something like hunt a wolf today, he hadn't got any sleep, and his body was sore. But then again, staying up was his fault- Ivarr's, actually. And perhaps a hunt would ease some of the rising frustrations in his head from all of... the ' _Eivor_ _Jarl_ ' he had heard for the week.

"This smells like ale, and mud... and more ale."

Eivor snapped from his thoughts, eyes moving onto Ceolbert who was knelt on the ground, examining the pelts.

"It was Wallace. Saw him sleeping on it near the stables. I should make him clean the hut for a whole month because of this." She crossed her arms, annoyed, but Eivor did not miss the almost kind way she said that about her brother. 

He let a small smile creep on his lips. "You keep Wallace in check, I will get you new pelts." Eivor promised, "I do have an impressive apprentice today." His tone was proud, assured, recalling how well the young Saxon aimed during the archery challenge.

Ceolbert returned the smile, patting himself down as he stood up. "Thank you, Eivor."

They bid Petra farewell, riding off to the woods, a bit far in the North, just near to where the stream met the river.

"It's best we avoid the den. We only need one. Keep your eyes sharp and your ears sharper." Eivor adviced Ceolbert, dismounting his horse, and walking carefully with his bow in hand. 

"It's the first time I've heard of a hunting game during the Yuletide feast. Is it a tradition in the North?" Ceolbert asked, following Eivor through the grassy area.

"It is. But differently. We only wanted something exciting for the last day of the feast. It'll be a simple boar hunt." He looked at Ceolbert. "You can join, if you'd like."

"I am interested, yes. Maybe I can get Ivarr to participate too."

"You've gotten quite good at dealing with him, haven't you?" Eivor walked slower, the smell of animal waste heavy on his nose, his tired senses waking as the sun shone down on them, mighty and bright, barely bothersome with how the winter breeze blew.

"I like to think that I did. He has kind of... changed. Mellowed." Ceolbert stopped beside him, looking around, but Eivor noticed his focus was on something else, mouth twitching as if he wanted to say more.

Eivor did not answer, worried where talking might lead them, instead he knelt on the ground, drawn by the traces of the animal in front of him. "Furs." He ran his fingers on the shedding scattered on the earth. "Not yet soiled by dirt. A wolf passed by recently." 

"He talked about you, Eivor." 

Eivor almost choked on his spit. 

He looked at Ceolbert, right brow raised. "Do you torment me by bringing this up?"

Ceolbert gave him a small, nervous laugh. "God no, nothing of the sorts." He held his bow tightly beside him, "I only thought that you'd be more open to talk about him... knowing that you two have been spending time together."

"Spending time during the night yes. We barely talk during the day." Eivor squinted, the corner of his lips twitching. "We barely talk."

Ceolbert kept quiet at Eivor's reply and let his eyes wander around the woods, helping him track their target.

They walked a few more, slow and light on their feet, Eivor feeling the buzz of the wind, and the smell of grass dewy from the melting snow. The sun's warmth hitting his face just right from the gaps between the trees.

"Did he do it often?" Eivor cursed himself for asking.

Ceolbert moved closer to him, fallen leaves and branches cracking under his step. Eivor looked at him, and his face was clear, thinking, eyes unsteady but not troubled. Maybe he was wondering about what to tell Eivor.

"He mentioned you quite a bit when we were training. He said he likes the way you fight. Vigorous, but not reckless." Ceolbert smiled. "Told me I should aim to fight like you." Then he rubbed the back of his head. "Although we both know that's impossible.

Eivor only laughed. Yet something irksome boiled inside him. Maybe it was disappointment. He didn't question the young man anymore, no matter how much he wanted to know if Ivarr mentioned things other than the way he held his blade.

His focus went back to the surrounding area, senses sharp over every little movement. 

"Having a noon time nap, it seems." Eivor looked straight ahead, eyeing the beast that slept on top of the slope, a good number of meters far from them. "Alright then, let's see how well Ivarr trained you." He glanced at the young Saxon who appeared to be more prepared than Eivor had expected.

Ceolbert nodded, drawing his bow out as he stood, hidden in the tall grass. His posture was good, sturdy, and Eivor observed the way he pulled on the string, arm straight and high. Then with a breath, Ceolbert released it, the arrow cutting through the air and waking the beast when it pierced its leg, crying in pain. 

It was alerted! And Ceolbert fumbled with his quiver when the beast howled, trying to get another arrow as sweat trickled down his face in alarm.

Ceolbert's panicked face did something to Eivor, something he couldn't quite put a finger to. With a quick motion, Eivor aimed his bow, firing it with haste and precision to end the wolf, killing it cleanly. "Make sure they don't suffer."

Ceolbert looked at him with horrified eyes. "Sorry, it must have been the wind." 

"Don't apologise Ceolbert. Not many could have hit it from that distance." He pressed a hand on the young man's shoulder, assuring him. "You only need to work on the confidence."

They made their way to where the dead beast lied, barely making it before it lost its breath, blood flowing through the cracks of stone and fibers of grass around it.

Eivor drew his axe out and placed it on its chest, whispering something in Norse and then shutting his eyes, letting a moment of peace takeover.

"Was that some kind of ritual?" Ceolbert asked when Eivor had put his axe back on his hips.

"Sent her to Valhalla. She will be of great use to the High One."

Ceolbert looked at Eivor like he understood and appreciated his culture, before proceeding to scan the dead wolf. "Directly on the heart. That was incredible, Eivor."

"A few more years and you'll be able to do it too." Eivor smiled, then whistled for his horse, mounting the wolf on its back when it had arrived. "Now, let's go and bring this back to Petra."

The horseride back to Ravensthorpe was short, but Eivor decided to slow down and feel the breeze, his tiredness somehow fading with the quiet afternoon.

"I've never seen them stray so far from the pack before." Ceolbert matched his horse's speed to Eivor's.

"Many of them are the only ones left of their pack. Hunted, or killed by other predators." Eivor looked ahead, deep in thoughts. "Or some of them simply like to be alone. Not knowing how to express themselves well with others." He felt Ceolbert stare at him from the corner of his eyes. With a sigh, Eivor pressed on, speeding up to feel the wind against his skin.

  
When they arrived at Petra's hut, she was there, sitting, talking to Wallace who looked weary, like he had just woken up. Wet, too. Eivor chuckled, following their figures until the man left shortly, broom and sack on hand. 

"Petra, judging by Wallace's face you seem to have given him a no easy task." Eivor brought down the dead wolf from his horse. And it must have been how he did spend some time with Petra before, but the smile she gave him was awkward. As if she didn't know how what to say to him. But it was barely noticeable, immediately being replaced by a much more genuine one.

Again, Eivor wondered if he was only imagining it.

"He was surprisingly sorry about what happened. Didn't take much talking." She peeked over his shoulder, taking in the sight of the animal. "That's quite a huge one, Eivor Jarl."

Eivor ignored the grinding in his ears from the constant mention of his title.

"Took two arrows before it went down. Can you get it ready before the hunting game?" 

"Yes, it should be be a fine cloak by then." She appeared to be looking for something, going back inside her hut and stepping out a few minutes later, handing Eivor and Ceolbert newly crafted arrows. "I can't thank you two enough." She looked at Ceolbert, "I made these and hopefully they can cover the trouble."

"Please, you don't have to-" Ceolbert tried returning the bolts back to Petra. The huntress only halted his hand with hers, beaming when their eyes met. 

"I insist." She said, stepping back and grabbing the dead beast by its legs, preparing to carry it back to her hut.

"Take it, young Ceolbert. It'd be disrespectful not to." Eivor put the arrows in his quiver shortly after admiring the craftmanship. "Is there anything else you need?"

"It's all good here, Eivor Jarl. I should tend to the pelts. The cloak isn't going to sew itself." She gave Eivor a small smile, then she went inside, leaving the two men behind. 

Eivor stayed still, observing the way the trees swayed with the winds, clearing his mind off for a while, then he looked at Ceolbert, curious. "Not used to getting rewards?"

Ceolbert twisted the wooden length of the arrow in his fingers, lips almost pouting, "I just feel like I didn't deserve it." He gave an akward laugh, "I barely did a thing, Eivor."

Eivor blinked at him, lips tugging upwards. "I do not remember you being this troubled over such things, Ceolbert. What's the matter?"

Ceolbert stayed quiet, still playing with the arrow in his hand. 

Eivor rubbed at his temples, eyeing the boy. "Walk with me." 

Ceolbert followed him through the afternoon calm, cold breeze blowing through the rather quiet crowd. There weren't that many people yet, most of it were just Ravensthorpe's settlers getting ready for another night of the feast- setting up the bonfire, or helping each other cook.

Eivor tugged his robe tighter, the cool air sinking through the fabrics. 

"Back in Sciropescire, I feel like I can get whatever I ask for." Ceolbert finally spoke, moving closer to Eivor. "Bishop Deorlaf said the people love me." He scrunched his nose up. "Only, too much."

"And you feel like sometimes it's a dishonest type of love?" Eivor looked at him.

"Yes, exactly. I'm afraid some of the people are only befriending me because I'm the Ealdorman... or at least going to be." Ceolbert released a long grunt, raising his palms to his face and drawing a small laugh from Eivor. "Even worse, friends talking to me differently once I do become Ealdorman.

Eivor did not bother hiding the amused way he looked at and talked to Ceolbert. "I've never seen you so... frustrated." 

"Please do not take pleasure in it." He cried, voice muffled by his hands, yet his tone was just as equally humorous as Eivor's. He raised his head, gazing at him with keen eyes. "Do you feel like that too, Eivor?"

Eivor's expression softened, "Yes. Many times." He looked on ahead, sighing at himself. "Especially when I became Jarl. You have no idea how many arse kissers I've encountered." 

Ceolbert begun to look even more worried.

Eivor held back a laugh, coming out as a snort when he looked at him. "Do not stress yourself over it, Young Ceolbert. Eventually you will find people who are to keep you grounded." He crossed his arms as another cold breeze blew right through them. "For me, that is my brother, and Randvi. People I've known since Norway and stayed with me the longest."

"They haven't changed the way they treated you?" Ceolbert questioned, looking at him with bright eyes.

Eivor's chest fell.

"Change is inevitable, Ceolbert. We don't talk like we used to." His lips flat lined, thinking heavily as he followed the leaf dancing its way from the branch onto the snowy ground, "But trust... it's what we have." 

"You seem to have been talking to Sigurd, and Randvi all fine." 

Eivor puffed a breath from his nose, uncertainty heavy on his face. "Bantering yes. I do not want to say that we have drifted apart, but we may have had." He fixed up his hair after a strong wind blew, and with that breeze felt like it brought back more things he did not wish to recall. "Sigurd, ever since he went missing. And as for Randvi, there were some complications." 

Eivor only smiled at his memories, not wishing to dwell on how he could've changed them. But sometimes- many times- he still wished he could.

The truth was it wasn't just Sigurd and Randvi. Eivor did not know when it started- did not wish to think when it could have started. "We still have each other's back. To the death." He gave Ceolbert a pat on the shoulders. "Now, when did the conversation shifted its spotlight to me?" 

They shared a quiet moment, stopping by under a tree, and sitting on the grass. There was a basket of fruits underneath it, and Eivor gladly helped himself to a piece. 

"I feel like I haven't made a friend who has been very honest with me as much as you and Ivarr." Ceolbert sprawled his legs beside him, wallowing under the afternoon glow.

And Eivor hated that he perked up at the mention of the Ragnarsson's name.

"Ivarr has been my anchor during the past months." Ceolbert continued, grabbing an orange from the basket and peeling it. "Sometimes he's like my father and mother in one." He shook his head. "All criticisms and too little praises." 

"You've gotten quite close ever since..." Eivor exhaled, brows meeting at the unease some events from the past had brought him. "Is that why he came here with you?"

Ceolbert put a piece of orange in his mouth, "Yes. Sorry for not writing to you about it beforehand. Other than him being my bodyguard, there really isn't anyone I feel more comfortable with... especially for great periods of time."

"A great fighter and an even greater noise. Perfect company for a long journey." Eivor laughed, short but no less humorous.

Ceolbert nodded with a smile, eating another piece of the fruit soon after. "You really know him well."

"He would only praise you in the most antagonizing way." The wind blew harder, the rustling of leaves against each other filling Eivor's ears as he took another bite of his apple. "But in a room where everyone is trying to kneel in front of you, he's the one who stands as if he's taller than you and everyone else." Eivor's tone was endearing, yet he grunted. Just for the sake of it. Just because it was _him_ they were talking about. "Ivarr is no arse-kisser. He'd be an honest companion, although irritating-"

"Well,"

Eivor, again, almost choked on what would have been a mixture of fruit and spit.

"Wolf-kissed, you only needed to ask. I would've kissed yours."

Eivor looked up, a scowl already forming on his face before even seeing the shit-eating grin Ivarr wore, standing over him with his hands on his hips.

"Were you eavesdropping, Ivarr?" Eivor questioned, his head raised up, and only a few inches apart from Ivarr's, who bent down over him. By Thor, he could see lightning sparks in between their gazes. 

"Maybe." He shrugged. "Don't give me that face, Eivor. You know manners and I don't exactly get along." Ivarr walked in front of them, stopping beside the basket and eyeing the fruits inside it. He was about to grab one, but his focus moved on the apple Eivor was eating instead. Ivarr sat beside him, legs spread and relaxed. "And my offer to eat you up still stands, Wolf-kissed. Nothing we haven't done before." 

With another grin, Ivarr replaced the apple on Eivor with his own lips, kissing him open-mouthedly, dirty, scandalous, and Eivor's brow furrowed when Ivarr stared at him while he sucked on his lips, yet he kissed back, taking it as a challenge. 

They were broken off by a barrage of throat clearing and coughing, Ceolbert pounding on his chest with his fist. Ivarr laughed, hearty, warm, and Eivor wished it could have always been like that.

"See what I say? You Saxons are so sensitive." He helped Ceolbert out, rubbing circles on the young man's back.

Eivor shook his head with a chuckle, looking at Ivarr with relaxed eyes. "Again, you are just shameless."

"Should I leave you two alone?" Ceolbert asked, an awkward smile forming on his face. 

"Yes."

"No."

Eivor rubbed at his brows, ridding himself of a coming headache.

"See, there's your teacher." Ivarr pointed towards Randvi, who was resting on a bench with Valka, just near the longhouse. "Go study your geographies and all that." Ivarr smiled sarcastically, his free hand basically shooing Ceolbert.

Eivor sighed, accepting the fact that him and Ceolbert might just let Ivarr win this time. "You have been looking forward to meeting her today, haven't you?"

When Ceolbert had hurried back to Randvi, Eivor made sure to give Ivarr a jab on the stomach, scowling at him again.

Ivarr grunted, forehead wrinkling in annoyance. "The scowl is for being a dick towards Ceolbert. But what was the elbow for?" 

"For listening to our conversation." Eivor tried to hide his smile, taking another bite of his apple instead. "How much did you hear?" 

"I don't remember." Ivarr was pious about it, baring his teeth when he dodged the second jab Eivor gave him. He took the apple from Eivor, taking it to his own mouth. "All of it was about me, wasn't it?"

Eivor scoffed. "You are not that interesting, Ivarr." 

"Ah come on Wolf-kissed, we both know that's a lie." 

Ivarr grinned at him, smug, and they stayed like that for a while- sharing the apple, staring at the faded orange sky that quickly turned dark and blue. Deep blue like Ivarr's eyes that Eivor had once again gotten used to, and he found himself gazing at it, not returning the smile Ivarr wore, letting the quiet night surround them. Found himself drawing his lips closer to Ivarr's, planting gentle, little kisses on the corner of his mouth, hoping he would kiss back gently. 

And found himself disappointed when Ivarr did not. 

When Eivor pulled back, the Ragnarsson only went back to eating the apple, staring at the pile of wood that was about to get lighted, and Eivor noticed when Ivarr's eyes wandered to the people around the center of the festival, up to the snow covered trees, until they reach the icy blue river in front of them, but never back to Eivor's eyes.

He hated that he couldn't read him.

Eivor sighed softly. "Ceolbert's having some troubles about becoming an Ealdorman." 

Ivarr raised a brow, eyes still fixated on the water. "Hm. He told me about it." He hummed lightly, throwing the apple core onto the river. 

"And did you give him your worst advice?" Eivor forced a grin, trying to take the weight off their conversation.

"I told him to come visit you." Ivarr finally looked at him, and many moments he had looked at him like that. Soft, as if there was more he wanted to say. And like the other times, Eivor found himself lost.

But because it was Ivarr Ragnarsson, those glances never lasted.

"Hence, why we are here." Ivarr stood up, patting himself down to get rid of the grass and dirt. He looked at Eivor again, eyes back to their normal mischievous glint. "But how are you doing, _Eivor Jarl_?"

Eivor groaned at the taunting tone Ivarr called him with, and if it weren't for a group of people making their way towards them, he would have dragged him back to the longhouse. To fight or to fuck him. Probably the latter.

_Surely the latter._

"Eivor Jarl!" A stout man dressed in fine robes was scurrying on his way, jewels clinking under the moonlight when he waved at Eivor, repeating ' _Eivor Jarl'_ a few more times. 

Eivor hoped the night sky hid the way he pursed his lips, staring pointedly at the man. He wasn't in the mood for this.

Ivarr only looked at him, then back to the man who stood in front of them, introducing himself as a Saxon trader from Jorvik, asking- _begging_ them for a more private place to talk. 

Eivor, annoyed as he was, led him back to the longhouse, followed by three young women who he assumed were his daughters, and Ivarr who, surprisingly, also followed him back instead of wandering some place else. 

"Well then, Edgar of Jorvik, what brings you to Ravensthorpe this Yuletide season?" Eivor began, sat on his throne with his elbow propped on the armrest, eyes tight on the Saxon in front.

"This truly is a magnificent feast, My Jarl. Never seen anything like it." He rubbed his hands together, wearing a too wide smile on his face. 

There was a small snort from Ivarr, and Eivor tried to ignore it, not looking at the Ragnarsson who was sat on the edge of the farthest long table.

Eivor felt his eye twitch, but he entertained the Saxon nonetheless, returning his smile, albeit a smaller one. "That's high praise coming from someone who lives in Jorvik."

"Lived, more likely. You see, Eivor Jarl," he licked his lips, fiddling with his own fingers. "We, my daughters and I, would very much appreciate to move to Ravensthorpe." He stepped closer to him, climbing the platform his seat was on. "Eivor Jarl, I've quite a lot of trading goods your young village would surely benefit from."

Eivor took a heavy breath. This should have been Randvi's job. Or Sigurd's. 

His brows met in curiosity, and frustration, "Jorvik is a much better place for trading is it not?" 

Edgar rubbed at his beard, lips nervously curling. "Eivor Jarl, let's just say there were some... business troubles back in Jorvik." He bared his teeth with a grin, fake and infuriating. "And by word of mouth, you are truly stupendous, _my Jarl_. My family has a bright future here, I can see."

"I can't just accept you without seeing what else you can offer. You cannot sway me with riches." Eivor straightened up from his seat. "I need to know what your history in Jorvik is. Men like you wouldn't simply leave such a bustling city."

The Saxon looked back at his daughters, then to Eivor, "I offer you my eldest."

There was a loud gasp from the group of women.

"Her interest for blades make her unfit for a proper Christian husband. But isn't that what you Danes lik-"

The sound of metal clanging against each other interrupted him, seeing tankards on the ground when he looked back, eyes darting onto Ivarr who was walking towards the hearth, firelight carving his face into a menacing smile. 

"I spilled my drinks." The Dane tilted his head, and for a split second, Eivor saw the Saxon's expression morph into something horrified, as if Ivarr was the personification of their Devil himself.

And Eivor tried hard to withhold a jeering laugh.

"Right." Edgar muttered, shifting his focus back to Eivor. "As I was saying, My Jarl-"

"Stop." Eivor raised his hand in protest, standing up with a tall and steady figure, grimacing at the Saxon. "You come to my village, beg me for a meeting, and disrespect your daughters in front of me." He looked down at him with cold and piercing eyes, harsh shadows emphasizing the disappointment on his face. "And I'm Norse. Get out."

"But-" he took another step closer to Eivor, "Please-" reaching his hands out close enough to hold him by the waist. 

"Do not touch him, Saxon." Ivarr's voice echoed in the longhouse, vibrating through the wooden panels and empty attic. "Unless you want me to feed you your limbs."

Eivor flinched, pushing the Saxon off him- and if it wasn't for a faint cry among the group of women, Eivor swore he would have made him bleed through his nose. "Your daughters have seen enough embarrassment to last a lifetime. Get out of my sight." 

The Saxon didn't speak a word, lips shut tight, but he looked fearful, trembling. Still, he obeyed, heading out of the longhouse while the three women followed. The last one, much taller than the others, and with a sword around her waist and leather bracers on her arms, looked back at Eivor with a wrinkled smile, as if to thank him. Eivor nodded, sinking back onto his seat, and taking a deep breath as the heavy longhouse doors finally shut close.

"Now you know how I'm doing as Jarl." Eivor rubbed at his forehead, throwing his head back. 

"Rich Saxons" Ivarr waltzed around the room, a hand on his hip and the other held an empty tankard. "They're even worse than useless kings." 

Eivor released another huge sigh, feeling like his seat was sucking him in, the weariness finally taking every inch of his body. "I do miss the days when I sat kings on thrones." He peeked at Ivarr through half-shut eyes, his lids seeming heavier than they should. "Now that I'm Jarl, it's as if I've been demoted to solving petty arguements. And _that_. Whatever that was."

"Do you not get out much, Eivor?" Ivarr asked, not looking at Eivor before he made his way towards the barrel of ale beside the double doors.

Eivor followed Ivarr's figure, observing where he would go, and how he simply left the tankard on the table near the barrel. "Not going for a drink?" He asked, straightening up from his seat, still curiously watching Ivarr, who did not answer his question. "And Sigurd have told me that I don't." Eivor puffed a breath from his nose. "He might be right." His gaze faded, blurring Ivarr and the interior of the longhouse to stare at nothing but air and dust. "I do miss riding my horse to wherever I want, not having to tell anyone where I spent the night. Talking to my friends like we used to." He blinked, adjusting his sight back to the hearth in front. "Not their... fancy and formal way of referring to me."

Eivor was distracted by a loud thud, looking up to see Ivarr barring the double doors with a slab of wood. 

"Is that why you hate being called Jarl?" Ivarr faced him with a quick and sly smile. "It's nothing out of the normal though, is it not?" He pushed the wood harder on each side, making sure it sat on the hooked metals well. "Your people are only being respectful, Eivor."

Eivor grunted from his seat, unsure of what to focus on. "I do not hate being called Jarl." He glowered. "What are you doing?"

Ivarr turned to him again, "Then why the face, _Eivor Jarl_?"

Eivor felt the tips of his ear buzz with heat at the way Ivarr made sure his last two words lingered on his tongue like bait, waiting for Eivor to take it and fall deeper into whatever game he was playing. Eivor tilted his head, giving his neck some room to breathe, feeling the cool air against the small, exposed area of his burning skin. "You say my name as if you only plan to toy with me." He was drumming his fingers on the armrest, annoyed at how he was making no effort to hide how bothered he was.

Ivarr leaned on the door, an arm raised to support him, " _Eivor Jarl... r_ olls off the tongue quite well doesn't it? Better than Wolf-kissed... hm. Although, I like that one too."

Eivor eyed the barrel of ale nearby, ignoring the burning in his chest from how the tune of Ivarr's voice replayed in his mind. He felt Ivarr stare at him as he made his way to fill up his drink, grabbing the tankard sitting on the table. He brought it to his lips, golden liquid dripping onto his bearded chin as he drank in haste, eager to quench the drought in his throat, and Ivarr's gaze only got heavier on him. 

Eivor's brows tightened while he watched his tankard be filled up again, listening to the trickling of liquid.

"Perhaps I do hate it." Eivor twisted the barrel's faucet off, sloppy with irritation. "How many times have I been called Jarl so dishonestly? And you're not helping, Ivarr."

Eivor wiped the line of ale on his chin after downing his drink once more, eyes narrowing at Ivarr's silence.

"How many more Saxons are going to come here, offering their sons and daughters, thinking they can bargain with me by calling me Jarl and showering me with praises?" Eivor didn't realise that he had raised his voice, the slamming of his tankard on the wooden surface barely overpowering his volume, "You've been quiet, Ragnarsson-"

Before Eivor could look back, Ivarr pinned him on the table, hands bracketing his body as he pressed himself against his hips. "Lighten up, Wolf-kissed. You're stiffening up in places." Ivarr grinned, a light breath escaping his mouth as he traced Eivor's scruffy jaw. "You've been real sour since earlier."

Eivor heaved against the kisses, angling his head to lead Ivarr down to his neck. "You're to blame." He turned around, shoving Ivarr off him with a half-hearted attempt. "You've done nothing but goad on me every time you call me Jarl."

Ivarr wrapped his arms around Eivor, grabbing all that he could of his ass. "You make yourself so easy for me to annoy, Wolf-kissed." Ivarr laughed against Eivor's beard, the bridge of his nose and the warmth of his breath was heavy on Eivor's skin.

"Don't praise yourself over it, Ivarr." Eivor smirked. "Although, if you did not pester me so, I'm afraid we would have never started bedding each other." Eivor leaned in for a kiss, and Ivarr pulled back, looking at him with wide lips.

"Ah, and it works so well." 

Eivor's face scrunched up, thinking what the consequences of what he said might have. "Gods, are you to antagonize me more, now?"

"We'll see." Ivarr's arms loosened around Eivor, hands taking him by the waist to twist him, turning him around so Ivarr could press him harder against the table until he was bent over it. Ivarr continued to suck on his neck, marking him, leaving red and purple bruises that scorched even the cool air on Eivor's skin. 

"Whatever are you planning, Ivarr?" He angled his head, feeling the length of Ivarr's fingers ghost on his skin. "I'm in no mood for anything slow. Not tonight."

Ivarr laughed against Eivor's neck. "You never are, Eivor." His teeth grazed on his skin, trailing up to Eivor's scar, his stubble barely felt against the numbed, age old wolf-bite. 

"Then hurry on with it, Ivarr." Eivor grunted as he felt heat rise up to every inch of his body, wanting to be free of his robes and his trousers.

"You are so bossy towards me. You know that, Wolf-kissed?" Ivarr pressed himself harder against Eivor, the table's legs dragging lightly accross the ground. "I like it." He leered, "But you should know it doesn't always work."

Eivor hummed lowly, squirming under his weight. "It mostly did."

"Save it for the battlefield, Eivor."

"It never works there." 

"Exactly."

There was a sharp bite on the curve of his neck, and Eivor did not know whether he was to focus on the cold night or Ivarr's heated lips.

When Eivor peeked through his shoulders after Ivarr had stopped kissing him, he saw Ivarr standing over him, a proud and impish grin on his face, staring at Eivor with dark eyes, like he had painted a work of art on his nape.

Ivarr traced the scar on Eivor's neck with his fingers, leading down to the trails of swollen kisses he had left him, almost bleeding. "What would your people think?" He brushed off Eivor's hair, lightly tugging on the golden locks and earning a whimper from Eivor when he grinded his clothed crotch against him. "Word flies, Eivor. Legendary Drengr of the Raven Clan. Your deeds have been made into songs." Ivarr leaned down, the point of his nose nudging behind Eivor's ears, whispering like some kind of trickster, Loki, or Christian Devils- malicious, yet enticing, and making Eivor's heart stutter out of his chest. "Still, none of them will ever sing about the nights you spread your thighs open for me." Ivarr laughed, and it was as if it was produced from the deepest parts of Eivor's brain, echoing through every inch of him, dark and low. 

Eivor did not know how to take it. His spine was shivering in anticipation and thrill. Part of him wanted to break free, almost reminding him of a much sinister tone Ivarr was capable of- yet not quite getting there- but most of him wanted to see, desired to know what Ivarr was about to do.

And much to his disappointment, Ivarr only walked to his throne, sat on it, and smiled at him like a taunting draugr. "This is quite a comfortable seat, Eivor Jarl." 

Eivor turned around, facing Ivarr as he leaned back on the table, tired legs almost wobbling, feeling himself grow harder.

"Ah." Ivarr raised his brows, giving Eivor a once-over, a pleased glint in his eyes when he stopped at his crotch. "Come over here, Wolf-kissed." His voice was light, yet it felt heavy, like a leash that pulled Eivor to move closer to him. 

"Ivarr..." Eivor didn't quite understand what was stirring inside him, and blamed the lack of sleep as to why he knelt in front of Ivarr, just between his thighs. 

Eivor couldn't deny the fire that bubbled in his throat when Ivarr dragged him closer by the hair, pressing his face against his crotch. He looked up to him through golden lashes, mouthing the shape of his cock from his trousers. He raised his hands, eager to take Ivarr's clothing off, only for it to be slapped away. 

"Off." Ivarr's fist on his hair clenched tighter. "Your clothes first."

Perhaps he was tired and simply wanted it to be over, but Eivor obeyed, disrobing himself as Ivarr's eyes feasted upon him. Or perhaps it was the way Ivarr made him feel when he raked his eyes all over his body when he wore nothing but skin, as if he got drunk on the Ragnarsson's attention. 

"Aren't you obedient, _Eivor Jarl_?" Ivarr teased, leaning forward so he was only a few inches away from Eivor's face, his hand palming his toned stomach, going down to his half hard cock.

Eivor paid no mind Ivarr's taunting, his brain focused on the feeling on his erection, the hand wrapped around it, moving up and down, pressing every inch of it. He thrusted himself against Ivarr's grasp, whimpering at the loss of touch when he did it. Eivor's eyes searched for Ivarr's face, just in time to see and hear him click his tongue.

Ivarr lowered his gaze at him with heavy lids and a stern voice, "Keep your hands still or I'll not fuck you." 

Eivor scowled, and yet he nodded, wondering what power Ivarr held over him that moment.

Ivarr circled his fingers tighter around the base of Eivor's cock, spitting on it, watching Eivor's scowl loosen into misty eyes when he started jerking it off again, slow and deep. _Torturous_. 

The mixture of weariness and frustration filled Eivor up, dying to thrust and come on Ivarr's hand, but also desiring to be touched in other ways, and he knew how solid Ivarr's words were. He really, truly would stop if Eivor made even a single move. 

But Eivor also knew how well the Ragnarsson desired him. So he had a reason to risk it. 

"Ivarr, shit... let me-" he hunched down, hands clutched on Ivarr's arm, scraping his fingers against his skin, scratching as Ivarr hastened his pace. "Please-" Eivor moaned against gritted teeth, face buried on Ivarr's arm as he thrusted again- and Ivarr let him do it twice before stopping, pulling his arm away to grab Eivor by his hair. 

"Naughty." Ivarr pulled him closer, undoing his own trousers so he could take his cock out and press it on Eivor's face.

Eivor breathed against the skin, feeling it harden as Ivarr slid the tip across his lips, watching his lashes flutter as his lids lowered when his cock was dragged around his mouth.

"Suck." Ivarr commanded, his hands now resting on the armrest, waiting for Eivor to take him in, observing the way Eivor's breathing was rendered visible when he pressed his lips closer to his cock, the way he slightly trembled against the cool night breeze, and the way he looked so eager to have him in.

Eivor began by sucking on the head, lips puckering as he trailed along the veins and the length of it, eyes fixed on how Ivarr lightly threw his head back, a small moan escaping his mouth. His cheeks hollowed when he reached the half of his cock, tongue flat against the skin, his head bobbing as he started moving.

Ivarr wore a lazy smile, grabbing a fistful of Eivor's hair to guide him deeper. "Aren't you a good boy, Wolf-kissed?" 

Eivor felt his stomach churn from the praise, taking it all in, eyes glassing as he tried reaching the base, tried going deeper, pulling out, then pushing back in, filling up his mouth with Ivarr's thickness. Eivor didn't realise it, but his hands were slowly making their way to his own erection, eager to relieve himself.

"Hands off, Eivor." Ivarr rammed himself harder, muffling a moan from Eivor. 

Eivor shook his head against Ivarr's cock, hands disobeying the Ragnarsson as he continued pleasing himself. He felt himself close, mouth tightening when he sucked- then Ivarr pulled out, grabbing Eivor's arms before he could even release.

"We can't have this, Wolf-kissed." 

Eivor grunted, watching Ivarr untie the leathers that covered the armrest, forcing him to turn around right after. He bound him with it, his hands laced with leather and fur behind him, and Eivor's heart raced when Ivarr stood up, shoving his cock inside his mouth once again, both hands on his hair. 

He started thrusting inside him, going as deep as he could, as if Eivor's gaggings were music to his ears, crooked smile and hazy eyes looking down at Eivor in pleasure.

"You take me in so well, _Eivor Jarl_." 

Another hard thrust had Eivor choking. 

"Do you like it when I fuck your pretty mouth?"

He buried himself deep in Eivor's throat, grinding his hips against his face as his hands held on to golden hair tightly, and all Eivor could do was nod, brows furrowing and his chest heaving at the asphyxiation. 

Ivarr pulled out, and Eivor chased after him, hoping it he would shove it back in.

"Needy." Ivarr leered. "Only if you beg like a whore." He leveled with Eivor's glare, grabbing the top part of his hair and tilting his head, glancing at his dripping cock, hard and dying to be touched, "What a mess you are, Eivor Jarl."

"Then mess me up even more." Eivor smirked, leaning in closer. "Maybe I'll actually beg."

"Oh I've thought about it, Wolf-kissed. Many times. And done it, many times too." Ivarr dragged him upwards until he faced his chair, and Eivor groaned at the tugging on his scalp. "Ruining you on your throne. Quite poetic, don't you think?"

Ivarr bent him over, spitting on his ass and poking a finger on his hole while his other hand pushed him against the wooden chair, his knee propped on the seat. Ivarr hunched down, whispering on Eivor's ear as he pressed a digit in, feeling Eivor arch his back when he curled his finger. "That's a good boy, Eivor." He cooed, planting kisses along the hard muscles of his back.

Eivor whimpered at the praise, his cock twitching at the movement inside him. "Ivarr-" He bit his lips, holding himself back from pleading, as much as he wanted Ivarr to move quicker, to stretch him out.

Ivarr hummed, adding another finger in, listening to Eivor catch his breath under him as he twisted and thrusted his digits inside. He watched Eivor wriggle against his touch, grinding his thighs together. "Do you need attention elsewhere?" Ivarr teased, his free hand crawling down just below Eivor's stomach, close to the base of his aching cock, refusing to touch it. 

Eivor rolled his hips, hoping his erection would at least brush against the end of Ivarr's fingers, dying to feel some sort of friction, groaning when Ivarr pulled his hand away and chuckled in his ear. 

"Not yet."

Eivor pressed his head against the backrest, eyes shut tight as Ivarr's hand explored his thighs, his ass, his back, and everywhere else except for his cock. "Ivarr..." Eivor moaned. "You are... unbearable." He said through gaps of heavy breathing, with Ivarr spitting on his fingers again to add another one inside him. 

"And yet you call out my name like that." He curved his fingers, drawing a gasp from Eivor. "Like you want me to fuck you hard." He pushed the three digits deeper. "Don't you, Wolf-kissed?"

Eivor clenched his bound hands with an instinctive struggle to break free. He did not answer, but proceeded to lower himself on Ivarr's fingers instead, feeling his hot breath against his back as he kissed him with wet lips, hearing his little laugh, knowing Ivarr liked what he was doing. 

Eivor turned around, sweaty and reddened. "I do."

Ivarr crawled his lips up to Eivor's neck, then to his jaw, nibbling on his ear and whispering there as if he was chanting a curse that made every part of Eivor's body ache for him- but the reality was much simpler. 

"Good boy, Eivor." Ivarr planted a kiss on the side of his head, on his raven tattoo.

Those words reverberated in Eivor's brain, replaying it until he wasn't sure if it truly was the way Ivarr said it or if it was just the way he wanted it to sound- mocking, maybe demeaning.

"Ivarr," Eivor called out as Ivarr pulled his fingers away, relaxing at the emptiness for only a split second before desiring to be filled up again. 

"Speak clearly, Eivor." Ivarr slapped his ass, drawing a grunt from Eivor.

"Your offer..." Eivor faced Ivarr, flushed, and the sight of the Ragnarsson's face only drove him more in need. "Please."

Ivarr's sunken eyes gazed at Eivor, as if it was to devour him, as if Ivarr knew Eivor was to give in to him completely sooner or later.

"That'll do, Wolf-kissed." Ivarr trailed his lips from Eivor's shoulder blades down to his tied arms, the curve of his back, and then spreading his cheeks to run his tongue on Eivor's entrance.

Eivor bit his lips, holding back a rather embarrassing sound when Ivarr swirled and circled inside him, slick and warm, his shoulders rising and falling as Ivarr repeated the patterns his tongue had gotten into. He felt fingers dig deep into his hips, Ivarr's grip tightening as Eivor shivered out moans he could no longer withhold. 

"Ivarr, please. Gods... _Fuck_." Every thrust brought Eivor closer to edge, brought him closer to release, chasing for his breath, muscles tightening around Ivarr's tongue. "I need-"

Eivor let another moan out when Ivarr squeezed his ass while his tongue worked inside him, flicking and sucking on everything it could, the bridge of his nose poking the curve of his cheeks, and the graze of stubble was a welcomed roughness. 

Ivarr's hand worked on Eivor's balls, massaging them, holding them in his grasp as his tongue found more ways to make Eivor squirm, tighten, and release lascivious sounds he had never heard before.

And when Ivarr suddenly pulled out, Eivor gasped, dissatisfaction heavy on his aching body. He looked at Ivarr again, brows furrowed and with swollen lips. "Ivarr, I need it-"

"I decide when you can have it, Wolf-kissed." Ivarr answered, teasing Eivor's hole, pushing at it, circling his finger against it, his free hand slapping Eivor's ass, watching it turn red.

Eivor felt the tip of Ivarr's cock against his entrance, and so he arched his back some more, eager to sink down on it himself, but the Dane's hands on his waist stopped him. "Ivarr, please."

"What else do you want, Wolf-kissed?" Eivor didn't look at him, but Ivarr's tone was teasing, taunting, and for some unknown reason to Eivor, incredibly arousing.

He nudged himself against the head of Ivarr's cock, his forehead planted on the backrest when he admitted to himself that perhaps he lost this time. 

And he let himself. 

"Praise me again... please." Eivor begged through closed eyes, spreading his thighs wider for the Ragnarsson.

Ivarr chuckled, wetting his cock with spit as he aligned himself. "It's not only the praises that you want, Wolf-kissed." He shoved the half in without a word, Eivor's hands curling into fists on his back, grunting in pain at the sudden feeling inside him, not quite knowing what to answer Ivarr with, only hoping to every one of their Gods that none of the people outside heard him moan- loud, yet low like a growl, vibrating through his bones.

"More-" Eivor uttered other words after it, slurring, coming out as heavy breathing as Ivarr started moving, his muscles tightening with every thrust.

"Tell me what." Ivarr pulled out and Eivor whimpered at the emptiness. 

"Ivarr-!" Eivor was catching his breath when he looked at Ivarr, red until the tip of his ears, sweating, and strands of hair scattered all over his face, letting himself drool from the corner of his mouth. "I love the way you call me Jarl."

Ivarr smirked at him, his eyes dark as he took his ass and spread it open before ramming his cock inside him in one go. "You look beautiful like this, Eivor Jarl." He buried himself deep, grinding his hips against him, hitting the spot that made Eivor throw his head back, moaning out Ivarr's name. He leaned closer as he did another thrust with the full length of his cock. "Looking like you're being fucked so good." Ivarr fisted Eivor's dripping erection, giving it a few pumps, overcome with pleasure at the way Eivor squirmed under him. "Taking me in so well." 

Another thrust had Eivor loudly pleading not to any God but to Ivarr, and Ivarr alone. 

"Calling out my name like a whore."  
  
Eivor peered down through half-shut eyes, blurred and watery, watching himself leak through the leathers and furs that covered his throne, a sort of twisted pride swelling in him at being fucked by the King Killer himself, and that pride was mixed with shame, knowing that this picture was something he would never forget when the morning comes, when he would sit on his throne again and everyone would only sing about his great Sagas.

The moans that escaped Eivor's mouth had only been growing, switching between pleading and crying out Ivarr's name as if his very life depended on him. His lungs raced against time itself as Ivarr repeatedly slammed his cock against his spot, hands tight on his hair and hips.

When pain and terrible pleasure rose up to him as he got fucked hard, cock twitching and chest heavy with the way Ivarr said his name in a manner nobody else could, he wondered if he had always liked the way Ivarr antagonized him.

Eivor met Ivarr's thrusts with his own, performing a chorus with how the Ragnarsson exhaled his name, letting out euphoric breathing as they matched the way each other moved, matched like nobody else knew their bodies as well as the two of them.

"You take my cock perfectly, Eivor." Ivarr leaned down, kissing Eivor's jaw, biting, nibbling. "Like your tight little hole was made for me." He tilted Eivor's head, meeting his lips and drowning out the moans Eivor would have made, and then pulling back to give him a good look. "And your pretty lips to scream out my name."

"Ivarr... fuck..." Eivor whimpered as Ivarr did a heavy thrust, filling him up, and stretching him out. 

"Say it louder." Ivarr jerked him off, and Eivor's felt his legs wobble at the attention his cock and ass were getting.

"Ivarr.. _fuck me_..." Eivor's inhales were like low growls, and his exhales were all Ivarr's name, groaning, cursing, screaming as he got fucked into making sure he wouldn't be able to walk tomorrow, thighs and legs numbing as he knelt on his throne, dripping on the covers, aching for sweet release.

And Ivarr just wasn't giving it to him.

When Ivarr leaned in for another kiss, Eivor made sure to bite him, suck on his lips, curse him, glare at him.

"Please, Ivarr. _Shit_. I need to-" Eivor's tone was broken, messy, almost a cry, and Ivarr tittered against his neck. "I need it. _Please_."

A hand made its way back to his cock, rubbing and moving all the way through, Ivarr whispering on his ear. "Good." Then a kiss on his head. "Since the Jarl asked so nicely."

It didn't take long for Eivor to come, breathy screams of Ivarr's name as his mind was sent in a haze, dizzied by the way Ivarr continued fucking him through his orgasm, drowning in the sea of praises from the Ragnarsson, no intention of saving himself.

Ivarr had gone silent, biting Eivor's shoulder, drawing a tinge of iron, and slapping his skin against him, thrusts stuttering as he came and Eivor felt hot liquid fill him up and drip to his thighs.

"You're too good for me, Eivor Jarl." Ivarr whispered against Eivor's ear, breath burning its mark through every inch of Eivor's body as their chests rose and fell, feeling Ivarr's weight behind him. His voice was soft, as if there was a sound of longing in Ivarr, as if he wanted to kiss, and look Eivor in the eye. And he did it, cupping Eivor's messy face with a hand and taking his lips as he unbound his wrists with the other.

Many nights, Ivarr's kisses felt tender, like a lover would, like the things he wanted to say lingered on his lips and the only way Eivor could understand was through a kiss, but he never could. Not with Ivarr. 

Eivor sank on his throne when Ivarr pulled away to tie his trousers and fasten his belts, sitting on the platform beside him when he finished. 

Eivor looked at his own body, thick wrists bruised by the leathers that bound him, built shoulders covered with bites, his hips lined by Ivarr's finger marks, and there was a feeling of arousal that crept up inside him. A feeling like Ivarr had claimed him. 

"How long have you thought about fucking me on a throne?" Eivor asked abruptly and Ivarr snorted at the question.

"Ever since Ledecestre."

"Gods. Ceolwulf's throne? That time?"

"Maybe it was love at first sight with you." Ivarr smirked at him, his tone ragging, and all the arousal that Eivor had for it earlier had faded into annoyance. Funny annoyance.

"Your cock beats faster than your heart, Ragnarsson."

"Ah. You know me so well, Eivor." 

"Ceolbert did say that." It was a slip he did not want. And Eivor only gave an exasperated sigh when he saw Ivarr already looking at him with curious eyes and a wide grin. 

"So you two did talk about me."

Eivor cleared his throat. "It was brief. The boy has a soft spot for you." He glanced down at Ivarr. "You've trained him well, too."

"Of course I did." Ivarr chortled.

"He's going to need you nearby when he's Ealdorman. There's nobody else he trusts more." 

The weight of the conversation suddenly clouded over them, and Ivarr's smile fell, body tensing up.

"You can't be reckless." Eivor shut his eyes, hoping Ivarr wouldn't walk away from this talk.

_Hoping he himself wouldn't, too._

"You can't do something like Sciropescire again. For him." Eivor bit his lower lip, the memories rushing through him like a hurricane that could only be calmed or worsened by what the Ragnarsson would answer him.

"I won't." Ivarr said tersely. There was a hint of irritation in the way he said it, but his face showed honesty- surety even- when Eivor stared.

"It's not easy..." Eivor gave him a small laugh. " When you start noticing the way people changed." He ran a hand through his hair, still looking at Ivarr. "It took me a while to fully understand your troubles with Ubba..."

Ivarr puffed a breath, gazing at the hearth. "I'm over that. Some people you cannot change. Children... it's what he wanted. It wasn't as shameful as I thought." Then he set his sights back on Eivor with a short, low hum from his throat. "You know... Wallace talked to me about you." 

Eivor grunted.

"Wolf-kissed, listen." Ivarr shook his head with a grin to lighten the mood. "He simply confided to me."

"Somehow i find that hard to believe" Eivor chuckled. "Anyone confiding to you."

"He said he wanted to ask you to do the honours of cutting up the boar that time... a few days ago." Ivarr relaxed on the platform, propping himself on his elbows, body spread out as he talked. "But lately, you seemed unapproachable." He glanced at Eivor, high tone dropping into a soft, low voice. "Always sitting inside the longhouse."

Eivor wasn't quite sure how to answer it, so he laughed. It was small, sarcastic, uncertain. "Are you good friends with Wallace now?" He stood up and began dressing himself. "Where is this conversation going?"

Ivarr rolled his eyes. "Look. I doubt I can solve your issues with your people by insulting you when we fuck, Eivor. You should go talk to them." 

Eivor straightened up, turning his back to Ivarr. He did hate it sometimes, how straightforward the Ragnarsson was.

"Although, I wouldn't deny, it does me great pleasure to call you a whore." 

Eivor faced him then, returning Ivarr's grin with a scowl, putting on his robe and fixing his hair. A small moment of silence, then Eivor indulged the conversation. "They don't talk to me... other than the usual requests."

Ivarr brushed his dark locks with his fingers. "You scowl a lot more compared to when you weren't Jarl." Then he looked Eivor in the eyes. "It's been a long time, but don't think I didn't notice." His gaze was intense. Maybe worried, even. 

Eivor scoffed at the idea of Ivarr caring about him.

Ivarr stood up, walked around the room until he reached the longhouse doors he had barred earlier, and Eivor followed his figure, watched him take the wooden plank off to let the winds pass through the entrance, night calm gracing them.

The Ragnarsson looked at him, "Think about it, Wolf-kissed. You've changed, too." He was a bit far from him, but Eivor still noticed the concern in his eyes when his met them, the way his voice came out, almost breaking as if he knew the cause of it.

And all Eivor could do was open his mouth, and then close it again before Ivarr took a step to leave him in the middle of the night. To be alone in his huge fucking bed.

 _Again_.

"Ivarr..." Eivor called out softly, leaning back on his seat, hoping he would return.

_And perking up when Ivarr did._

"Forgot something." Ivarr beamed from ear to ear, walking back inside the longhouse, and Eivor could only grin when he walked past him, waltzing to his room, then peeking when Eivor did not follow.

"Are you not tired, Eivor?"

"I'm not even going to ask what you have forgotten." Eivor exhaled a small laugh, making his way to his quarters.

"Well, you were supposed to." Ivarr scrunched up his face. "And I was to say something... romantic?"

"Or stupid." Eivor smirked.

Ivarr blew a dismissive breath, raising his hand to signal for Eivor. "Come here." 

Eivor stared for a second before joining Ivarr in bed, legs brushing against each other as they shared the covers. 

There were no arms wrapped around each other, no kissing, no goodnights, but it was the warmest night Eivor had in a long while. Hearing Ivarr breathe beside him, watching him sleep- calm like the night- and he almost wanted to touch him. Softly. Gently. Like Ivarr did, sometimes.

But Eivor let sleep take him instead, and he dreamt of how much more warmth Ivarr Ragnarsson could have.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't want to make the story pretty heavy but there are moments.. but I still want the bond between these three to be... you know.. fun.
> 
> (sorry for the mistakes... i may have missed fixing them)


End file.
